Saeko's Boutique and Occasional Torture Store
by Abundant E
Summary: Rachel Greenwood was the self proclaimed queen of Los Angeles and all things fashion—until she fell off a balcony, drunk and high, and was reborn as a peasant. OC-Insert
1. hemp something-a-rathers

**1**

Rachel Greenwood was born in Edgemont Medical Clinic, cleanly and swiftly delivered to her mere twenty year old mother in an exclusive private wing of the hospital.

Saeko is born on the dirty floor of a shack in the middle of absolute no where, delivered by a creepy old crone of a woman.

The comparison is important, at least for Saeko. Rachel Greenwood is a reminder and a goal, but also herself. Yeah, they're the same person.

Which is confusing, of course, because what isn't confusing about reincarnation? But that's not important. At least not to Saeko.

The important thing _is_ that Rachel Greenwood lived in downtown Los Angeles, California and was a queen of all things fashion and fun, specifically if it involved generous amounts of money, which she owned. And Saeko is none of this.

Saeko is a peasant who doesn't even have a last name. Saeko's parents have _jobs_. Saeko sleeps on some weird mattress thing on the _floor_ , and by the floor she means the _ground_. Saeko is expected to grow up and work on a farm.

Oh, and apparently, there's also weird inhuman people who can run super fast and breathe fire.

"But you don't need to worry about them," her mother coos when she's four and finally has a good grasp on Japanese. Saeko's already forgotten her new mother's name. "We live in a quiet town."

This is the wrong thing to say. Rachel Greenwood was LA born and raised. LA is not some _quiet town_. Already, Saeko has been filled with a rampant desire to leave this shit hole and go out and explore the city. The city being, well, probably just a _bigger_ town, because this world has been crafted by plebeians, in her eyes.

Hell, she _is_ a plebeian now.

And that's just not okay.

"You look terrified," Saeko's mother continues, and does this woman ever shut up? "Don't worry. Shinobi don't bother themselves with average people like us."

"I'm not average," Saeko says at once. "I'm gonna be amazing. Better than those weird people."

"You—you want to be a shinobi, Saeko-chan?"

She knows her mother is probably thinking of how she needs to bathe at least three times a day and refuses to step in mud. Her mother is clearly highly uneducated. Of _course_ she doesn't want to be a shi-no-what's it.

Saeko looks at her mother's dress thing. It's bland and made from hemp. And that's just not okay as well.

This world doesn't need shinabo's or whatever they're called.

This world needs a fashion designer. No, not just that.

They need a _revolution_. A fashion revolution. A fashion revolution that can only be delivered by Rachel Greenwood—Saeko.

* * *

Unfortunately, getting out of a small country town is harder than it seems.

"You can't just leave, Saeko-chan," her father tells her.

Rachel Greenwood was called a sociopath once or twice in her old life, because she lacked empathy and didn't care about anyone but herself.

Saeko wonders if she, too, is a sociopath, because she's thirteen and doesn't remember her father's name. Or more, she doesn't care. Besides, that's allowed, right? She'll just have to call him dad until she leaves this stupid hick town, and then...

Well, she'll never see him again.

"Why not?" Saeko asks as she watches her father plant turnips. "I'm made for better things than this."

Her father frowns at her. "You can't read or write. You can't even plant turnips!"

"That's not the be-all or end-all of _life_ , Dad! I know exactly who I am. And what I'm meant to be. And trust me, I'm gonna be rich. And famous! Is that a thing?"

"What?"

"Whatever. Anyway, the only reason why I can't read or write is because you haven't taught me yet. So that's you're fault, not mine!"

Her father shakes his head at her, which is a regular thing. He never approves of _anything_ Saeko does. According to him — she has heard her father go on many rants about her before — she uses too much water, she doesn't know a thing about turnips and is an ungrateful, impudent brat.

Saeko's not too sure what impudent means, but she hopes it means beautiful, because sure, she may be ungrateful — who wouldn't be, living on a turnip farm? — and she may be a brat — once again, who wouldn't be, in her disgusting plebeian shoes? — _but_ she's definitely beautiful.

At least, that's what Saeko tells herself as she attempts to apply her DIY mud mask while looking in a water basin in her room. Her room, as in, _the only room of the house_.

"Saeko-chan, what _are_ you doing this time?" her mother asks as she enters the house.

Yeah, she definitely needs to leave. Any woman that doesn't know what a face mask is shouldn't be within twelve yards or miles or whatever of her.

* * *

Saeko's getaway comes in the form of a female merchant who constantly smirks and wears elegant kimonos. She's the light in Saeko's life. She's the light at the end of the tunnel, the sun, the moon, all the stupid metaphors Yates or Bates or whatever that romantic poetry writer uses.

She only comes by pure luck, because no one in Saeko's hick town is rich enough or smart enough to buy from a stylish merchant. The merchant arrives because the wheel of her cart or something-a-rather gets stuck in mud, and all the men in the town — all twelve of them — gather to try and get it out for the pretty lady.

Saeko sits to the side with the pretty merchant and her horse and waits it out.

"Your complexion is to die for," the merchant informs her.

"Did you just—" Saeko stops, because her head is beginning to feel faint. "I can't believe you. That is the best thing anyone has ever said to me in my entire sixteen years of being stuck in this place!"

The merchant smirks. Her lips are red. Saeko wants — no, _needs_ — to interrogate this woman, and demand to know where and how she got her lipstick from.

"What's your name?" the merchant asks.

"Saeko."

"Ah. The name means _serene child_." The merchant pauses. "You don't seem very serene."

"Only idiots would be serene stuck in a place like this. What's your name?"

"Fumiko. It means child of treasured beauty."

"It suits you."

"Thank you."

The wheel of Fumiko's cart is still lodged in the mud. Not even twelve of the town's sweatiest and grossest men are making any progress.

"I have never seen such incompetence before," Fumiko says, shaking her head. "Did you arrive here by mistake?"

Saeko sighs with great exaggeration. "No, unfortunately I was born here."

Fumiko looks suitably outraged. " _Born_ here? What—what do you do, exactly?"

"I've been working on a few things, you see. You noticed my complexion, right? Of course you did. It practically radiates from miles away! Well, anyway, I've been making face masks. Stuff you put on your face to make it softer, or less oily. I've made this perfect one using mud. It took so many tries. For a moment, my acne was _disastrous_! But I finally figured the formula out."

The longer Saeko speaks, the more she can see she is piquing Fumiko's interest.

"You are truly wasted here," Fumiko says, sighing.

"I know. I know, it's what I've been telling my parents for _years_ but they just won't listen."

Fumiko nods. "Parents _never_ listen. Mine told me it was incredibly unwise to travel such a world with no bodyguard, but what kind of idiotic man would kill a beautiful woman like me, anyway? And I've been fine, so far."

"Of course they wouldn't kill you. You're far too beautiful."

This causes Fumiko to smirk again, before it fades as she regards the village men attempting to remove her wheel from the mud once more.

"Perhaps I should have hired a bodyguard, if only to keep me out of ridiculous situations such as this," Fumiko says. "Although, then I wouldn't have met you."

The two women — though Saeko knows that in this world, she is a late bloomer, but still, she has her _period_ for crying out loud — both share a smile.

"Do you think, maybe, Fumiko-san," Saeko begins, using an honorific when normally she never bothers, "that I could maybe accompany you? I wouldn't be a bother. And, well, I'd make you a face mask."

Fumiko's smirk widens. "I thought you'd never ask."

And so, after the three hours that the men of the hick village take to get Fumiko's cart back up and running, Saeko has packed her scant belongings, including her two hemp things — they are not _clothes,_ something as ugly as them could not be considered clothes — and a shard of a mirror.

It is remarkably easy to sneak out of the house when you live in a hick village, there's no alcohol or drugs around and your parents are turnip farmers who never expect you to do any work.

Saeko doesn't say good bye to her parents. She doesn't recall their names and besides, they were holding her back from reaching her full potential.

Fumiko smirks as she helps Saeko up onto the horse behind her, the cart attached to the back of it.

"Tell me, Saeko-chan, are you ready to change the world?"

"Of course not," Saeko scoffs. "But I _am_ ready to show the world what true fashion is."

And as Saeko watches her little hick town grow smaller and smaller, and the inevitable city draw closer and closer, she knows, just _knows_ , that one day, every one in this entire weird shitty world will know her name.

She just needs time.

And a lot of silk.

* * *

 **A/N:** alternatively titled _what is this_ in my google docs. honestly this is for fun. I mean all of my writing is but this is for true, selfish pleasure. the genre is parody and comedy for a reason. don't take this seriously. please.

I'm also very caffeinated right now so I have no idea if uploading this is a good idea, but I mean, here we go...?

this will mostly be just short chapters whenever inspiration spikes and also when I'm really stressed and need to mindlessly write! fun times

I hope you enjoyed? Maybe? whatever I'm uploading this hahahaha

also it features Madara because I can't leave that man/boy/man child alone and yes, he is the leading man who will appear...soon

thanks!


	2. blood red silk bras

**2**

Even on the long, dirt roads that they travel along, Fumiko maintains all her beauty. Her dark hair is constantly silky, her eyebrows permanently groomed well, her lips forever red. Now, Saeko's certainly not a _dag_ or anything ridiculous like that, but this woman is light years ahead of her. At least, in this world.

Of course Rachel Greenwood is — was — way prettier and more beautiful than Fumiko can even imagine.

Yet even Fumiko's beauty and thoroughly intelligent conversation — finally someone understands fashion — isn't enough to distract Saeko from the woeful journey through dirt roads. She knows nothing about anything of this world. The moment Saeko jumped up behind Fumiko on the horse, she asked for more information, attempting to find a place in this world that would be similar to Los Angeles.

The way Fumiko explained it, though, made it sound like they were in the middle of forest-y Oregon — and no one knows Oregon. At least no one with any _sense_.

"Where does everyone go, though?" Saeko asked.

Fumiko shrugged. "Near where the daimyo is, usually. Everyone flocks there. The closer you are to the daimyo of each country, the richer you are, basically."

"Country?"

Fumiko sighed pityingly. "I feel sorry for you, Saeko-chan."

"You should. My parents were idiots."

"Turnip farmers usually are."

Saeko didn't bother Fumiko with pointless geography questions after that. And now, as they descend another dry hill, Saeko can't help but wonder what final destination Fumiko has in mind.

She doesn't really care. She just wanted to leave her town, and she's gone, now, so it doesn't really matter where she ends up.

Even though Saeko doesn't ask a lot of questions, Fumiko fills up the time by telling her things anyway. She doesn't speak much about her job. Saeko presumes she's a merchant, but she's yet to see any wares.

Of course, that's because Fumiko never opens up her cart.

"When we reach the capital," she says every time Saeko mentions it or goes near it.

Honestly, Saeko doesn't care. There could be a dead body in there and it wouldn't matter, as long as _she_ doesn't end up being a dead body in there.

Which she highly doubts, considering the amount of flirting and cuddling up at night her and Fumiko do.

To her surprise, the journey to the capital from Saeko's stupid town doesn't actually take that long. She thought it would take at least a year, considering how in the middle of nowhere her town was.

But instead it only takes a measly two weeks.

"Your town actually isn't that middle of nowhere as you think," Fumiko says, smiling as they both stare into the distance, where what looks vaguely like a fortress of some sort is smack bang in the centre, with little buildings surrounding.

"So that's the daimyo's... _palace_? Or whatever?"

Fumiko shrugs. "Honestly, the daimyo in the Fire Country has the _least_ taste in my opinion. Certainly not a palace, at least for my standards."

As they get closer, the daimyo's place towers even higher, sitting over the town and casting a shadow.

Saeko is too excited to care whether the daimyo's place is a fortress or a castle. They arrive in the middle of the day, meaning that everyone is out and about, and there's actual _stalls_ with jewellery and goods — even if it's all ugly — and there's a flurry of people.

There's more people than Saeko has ever seen in her sixteen years in this world. It's amazing, it's wonderful and...still remarkably plebeian.

Fumiko seems to sense Saeko's disappointment.

"Your imagination must be extreme for you to picture something more than this," Fumiko says.

Saeko doesn't have a shred of imagination in her except for when it comes to clothes. It's just that she has seen LA, she was born in LA, and this is mildly disappointing.

"It's still better than your old town," Fumiko says, giving Saeko a nudge. "Isn't it?"

Her stupid hick town can't even be classified as a town. It's just buildings conveniently located slightly near each other. And even then you still have to walk awhile to reach your gross neighbour.

Saeko wants to be in the daimyo's tower or fortress thing, because even though it looks kind of ugly from the outside, she knows the daimyo is rich. There's probably a _bathtub_.

They arrive outside an average looking building, and Fumiko passes her horse to someone standing by the side, tossing him a few coins as she did. Inside, the building only seems to look _more_ average. It's not the kind of place Saeko thought Fumiko would stay. It almost seems _too_ average, as if it's attempting to be normal but failing because it's too normal.

"Fumiko-san," the man at the counter greets, giving her a wide smile. "So lovely to see you here again!"

Fumiko gives him a quick yet dismissive nod. "My usual room, please."

Saeko watches his eyes flicker between them before he nods, floundering around for a piece of parchment that he brandishes to Fumiko as if she's some kind of God or something.

She kind of is.

Fumiko's usual room is quite lovely, in a sort of _homely-country_ way. Saeko isn't really into _homely-country_.

"Do you like it?" Fumiko asks, giving her a wide smile. "It's quaint."

 _Quaint_. "I always hated that word," Saeko says.

"I would have thought quaint would be an improvement from poverty."

"It is! It's just not—I have high standards. I'm quite fussy, you know, but not _too_ fussy I think."

This only makes Fumiko's smile grow.

Because Saeko is impatient, she goes later that very day to find a boutique or clothing store or whatever they call it here.

She finds a small shop tucked away in a street. Saeko slides the door open and enters, not bothering to take off her shoes because she never did that in her old world or in her hick village.

The shop is filled with different types of fabrics and kimonos that Saeko has never seen before. All she has ever worn is a shitty old one made of hemp. She doesn't even know the proper name for it.

There's a woman sitting in a chair, with frizzy grey hair piled onto the top of her head. She's focused completely on the kimono she seems to be hemming.

"Hello?" Saeko asks.

The woman jolts, knocking the chair she was sitting on to the ground. She glares at Saeko. "Can't you _read_? The sign says we're closed!"

"I can't, actually."

As if this is a problem, the woman scoffs. "Of course you can't. I should've guessed just from looking at you!"

"Excuse you, I—" Saeko stops, remembering Fumiko's firm words to her before she left that she has to be fake and not her usual herself. She forces a smile. "Yes, well, I come from a rather small town. But anyway, that's irrelevant! I want to be your apprentice. Or something. I want to learn from you."

This doesn't please the woman. "Do you honestly think I'd want some country girl? I can have _anyone_ in this entire place if I wanted to! I make everything the daimyo's daughter wears."

To Saeko, this isn't really considered an achievement. This woman is the _only_ seamstress in town as far as Saeko's search told her. Of course she's going to be making everything for the daimyo's daughter.

"I don't need to be paid," Saeko tells her. "I just wanna learn."

The woman's eyes narrow further. "I'll give you one day. If you show _some_ semblance of talent, I'll consider it. Now leave. We're closed, and you can come back tomorrow."

Before Saeko can ask how she's meant to know when exactly tomorrow, she's hustled out and the door is slid shut. Saeko's fairly certain that there aren't any clocks here.

Fumiko bursts out laughing when Saeko asks how she's meant to tell the time.

"You really are a country girl," Fumiko says, tutting. She reaches somewhere into her kimono and pulls out what looks like an old-fashioned pocket watch. "This is a clock. You can tell the time from it. You know how time works, right? Hours?"

"I'm not _that_ stupid."

"You can take this one, then," Fumiko says, handing it over.

Saeko turns the pocket watch over in her hands. It seems a weird thing for what seems like an old-fashioned society or world to have.

"Is this expensive?" Saeko asks.

Fumiko laughs. "You don't even want to know how expensive it is. Very few people have them. Most people just use the sun."

Use the sun. If people can supposedly breath fire in this world, what the hell are they doing looking at the sun to tell the time? If they can breath fire, where are the televisions?

Saeko takes the pocket watch anyway. It's expensive. That's one of her favourite words.

She shows up at around seven, only to find out that this ugly old crone is _clearly_ a slacker because the store is still shut tight and there's no signs of movement when Saeko attempts to peer through the shoji screen.

Now, Saeko understands beauty sleep, of _course_! But this is ridiculous. It's seven. Unless she's been out partying hard which would _never_ happen in this town, it's unacceptable.

It's not until about an hour later that the woman shows up, looking shocked when she sees Saeko sitting beside the entrance to her store, sitting on the little verandah.

"At least you have _some_ redeeming factors," she hears her say under her breath.

 _Some_? This old hag has no idea.

The moment Saeko enters the store, the woman begins to ramble, quickly pointing out things as if to test Saeko.

"You may call me Tori-sensei. I don't usually take assistants. I hate time wasters. My kimonos are _stylish_ , yet neat. They are in fashion. Now, seeing as you know nothing, we'll start with small things."

Not once does Tori-sensei ask for Saeko's name.

Saeko doesn't care. The only reason why she remembers Tori-sensei's name is because she does, indeed, look like a bird. An ugly bird.

The day passes, with Saeko eagerly lapping up every word Tori-sensei says and touching all the fabrics and smiling at every customer that comes in, flirting shamelessly.

"You're alright," Tori-sensei says grudgingly at the end of the day. "This will do."

And so she starts to spend her days sewing under Tori-sensei. She knows when to listen, when to shut up.

Rachel Greenwood owned a sewing machine. All Saeko owns is a needle. There's a distinct difference and Saeko needs to quickly eliminate the difference, so she can start producing works of art that Rachel Greenwood would have produced with a sewing machine except with a needle.

Underneath Tori-sensei's beady gaze, she learns how to sew, how to hem kimonos, the different styles of kimonos. Saeko doesn't really care about the different styles of kimonos, mostly because when she's good enough, she'll be making more _practical_ things, like suit pants and blazers and fucking sensible — but still, obviously, cute — underwear.

Tori-sensei is heavily outdated, but that's okay. She's simply a stepping stone that Saeko will eventually eliminate when she's no longer useful.

In the mean time, though, Saeko uses Tori-sensei's elaborate clientele to network. She knows she makes an impression on each customer that walks through the door. Saeko has an eye for detail and colour that Tori-sensei, simply put, _doesn't._ Sure, the old crone can sew, but she doesn't know what colours and patterns and materials work seamlessly well together.

More importantly, she doesn't know when to break _tradition_.

"Pants are practical," Saeko explains for the umpteen time. "Everyone loves practicality."

Tori-sensei tuts. "No, silly girl. Only shinobi wear pants."

"That's utterly ridiculous. Haven't you heard of breaking the rules, Tori-sensei?"

"Where you come from, maybe it is okay for anyone to wear pants. But here, things are _expected_."

Saeko _loves_ the capital. She adores the wide variety of people, the shops, everything.

Everything except the so-called _expected_ things.

Every night, Saeko complains to Fumiko about how dumb Tori-sensei is, and about what she learnt. Fumiko never really divulges anything about her own day, only sitting there, smiling, drinking sake.

Which tastes disgusting. This world _clearly_ needs to learn what a good Cosmopolitan is.

But as it is the only thing available, Saeko drinks it every night at dinner time. Fumiko seems to have expensive tastes, for the food they have is always good, and nothing like the weird stews that Saeko's hick parents made.

Fumiko has a lot of money, clearly. Because not only do they eat ridiculous meals every morning and night, Fumiko also buys Saeko clothes. _Nice_ clothes, made out of silk and cotton.

"I can't pay you back," Saeko says, because she hates owing anyone _anything_.

"You keep my bed warm," Fumiko says, shrugging as if the amount of money she had spent was _nothing_ , even though Tori-sensei gaped when they entered the shop and Fumiko bought the clothes for her.

Saeko wonders if she has picked up this world's equivalent of a sugar daddy — sugar mummy or whatever. Fumiko isn't even that much older.

When Saeko imagines her hick parents seeing her now — being bought dinner and clothes by a pretty woman and then sleeping with her every night — she can see their outrage.

It's brilliant.

But Rachel Greenwood's parents wouldn't have even battered an eyelash if two women and maybe even one male had been found in her bedroom.

This world is just too conservative.

Of course, Saeko can change that.

* * *

For all that Fumiko has the cart, Saeko's never actually seen her _sell_ anything. While Saeko worked with Tori-sensei, Fumiko claimed to be selling her wares to the people of the city, yet Saeko hasn't seen any wares.

Logically, Saeko knows this is cause for worry. This is suspicious.

But quite frankly, Saeko doesn't care. Every night she lies with a beautiful woman who supports her ambitions and encourages them.

She can be a psychopathic murderer if she wants.

Funnily enough, Saeko isn't that far from the truth.

She finds out one morning when she arrives back at their room after Tori-sensei sent her home early because she was in a bad mood, finding Fumiko in the wash room, calmly rubbing her skin with a cloth.

Her skin is covered in blood.

"Oh, Saeko-chan," Fumiko greets, not hesitating in the slightest, but Saeko thinks it's a sort of feigned nonchalance. "Welcome back."

"So it's not your beauty that stops people from attacking your _wares_. It's you being a what's-it-called."

"Shinobi. And yes, it is."

They both stare at each other, and logically, once again, Saeko knows this is bad. Kind of. But also not really. Fumiko is rich and hot and very good in bed.

"Cool," Saeko says. "But could you hurry up? I need to wash. Tori-sensei was a bitch today."

Fumiko gives her that indulging smile she sometimes does, that Saeko has learned to mean that she's done something good.

"Of course, Saeko-chan. I won't be much longer."

Funnily enough, nothing changes.

Except that Saeko comes back to Fumiko in the wash room scrubbing blood off her skin a lot more.

But other than that, absolutely nothing.

Until Fumiko begins to bring people back to their room, people that are always decked out in weird armour and swords and who have weird hair and very questionable fashion sense. They all stare at Saeko, as if she's some kind of alien.

Which she is. Kind of.

And then Saeko eavesdrops from the wash room and hears them casually discussing killing and all other types of things. Fumiko explained to her that it was all very professional, of course, and very needed.

Saeko doesn't really care. It's nice to know that Fumiko's worried about her sensibilities, though.

For the amount of shi _nobi's_ that come through, Fumiko never introduces any of them, as if they aren't important enough for her.

Until one.

"Saeko-chan, this is Madara-kun. Madara-kun, this is Saeko-chan."

Madara-kun drastically needs a hair cut. Saeko struggles to look at him for a moment. She ends up looking away.

"Fumiko, we need to talk," Madara-kun says, ignoring the introduction completely. "Now."

"Of course, of course, I'll get you some tea and we can talk."

"In private."

"Saeko-chan won't tell! She doesn't even know who you are."

"How can she not know who I am?"

"How can you not know who _I_ am?" Saeko interrupts. "And besides, I know who you are _now_. Madara-kun."

He gives her a withering stare before turning back to Fumiko. "Now."

"Fine, fine. You're always so moody. Send Izuna-kun next time, I prefer him."

They leave Saeko to herself and venture into the more casual room where they eat dinner, but she can still hear them shout out at each other as she practises hemming one of Fumiko's _hikizuri_ kimono's with her slip stitch.

"Why are _you_ here, more importantly?" she hears Fumiko demand.

"I can be wherever I want."

"I thought the Senju were in favour of the daimyo."

"Butsuma died. They don't trust Hashirama."

"That must make you terribly happy."

"It's irrelevant. They shouldn't trust him. He's irresponsible."

" _I_ think he's pretty responsible."

"If you've been associating with him—"

"Remove that stick from your ass, Madara-kun. Of course I'm not associating with him. What do you need?"

"Something discreet. Highly discreet. I want it look to like an accident."

"You're ridiculous. Do you know how many people ask for that same thing? You're just like all the idiot farmers I meet who want to kill the rival farmer."

"I don't care about your trivial clients. I need it by tomorrow."

"Fine, fine. It's not like I'm _busy_ or anything."

Saeko hears the clinking of gold and rustling before the shoji door slides open, revealing a put-out Fumiko and Madara-kun, who seems to permanently look pissed.

"I'll see you tomorrow then, Madara-kun," Fumiko drawls, giving him an idle wave, but he doesn't even see because he's already left. Fumiko sighs, flopping down next to Saeko. "Men."

"Idiots," Saeko agrees, staring intently at the hem before handing it to Fumiko. "Try this on and tell me what you think. I think it should be _so_ much better."

Fumiko beams. "Oh, Saeko-chan. What would I do without you?"

"Die, probably. After all, I'm the reason why you're as beautiful as you are."

As Saeko thought, Fumiko looks beautiful in the newly hemmed _hikizuri_. She twirls around, smirking, and then they drink a lot of sake and eat the usual extravagant dinner.

Fumiko is gone in the morning, because Saeko has the day off today.

Saeko decides to work on her modified bra, because lately she's been noticing that despite being nearly seventeen, her boobs are _not_ growing the way she wants them to. Rachel Greenwood had a boob job, but Saeko doesn't have that kind of surgery available to her.

At least she doesn't think she does.

So she desperately needs to design a push up bra.

When someone bangs on the door and she slides it open, Saeko's still holding her red silk bra work-in-process.

Madara-kun stands there, all decked out in his armour and weird guitar looking thing on his back and his disgusting hair.

"Where's Fumiko?" Madara-kun demands, storming into their room. He stares at the single futon out and raises an eyebrow.

"I dunno. She disappeared this morning."

He narrows his eyes. "And you don't even know where she went?"

"Of course I don't! She doesn't tell me. And can you please not look at me like that? Your energy is cramming my vibe."

" _What?_ "

"You heard me," Saeko says, rolling her eyes and turning back to the her bra.

She senses him continuing to watch her work. It's eerie, because Saeko is pretty sure he's kind of not really breathing. Or at least she can't hear him breath.

"What is that?"

Saeko sighs. _Men_. "It's for my boobs." When Madara simply stares at her, she points to them — the severe _lack_ of them. "These. You probably can't see them, I know, which is the problem I'm trying to fix."

He continues to stare, and though his face reveals nothing because he's got a remarkably good resting bitch face, she thinks she sees his eye twitch slightly.

"Anyway, I don't know where Fumiko is. So you're just gonna have to go."

When he doesn't reply, Saeko turns around to fully face him, but he's gone, which is just _rude_.

Saeko tries on the bra. She doesn't have a clasp, but rather two straps to tie together. She sewed and rolled together various bits of scrap fabric and stuffed them into pockets to make the push up part.

When she ties it, her boobs are significantly perkier, significantly bigger, significantly better.

Saeko's life is brilliant.

* * *

 **A/N:** here's me putting it out there that I don't share saeko's opinion on boobs (is that necessary to say..? never thought I'd have to say it in a fic)

ANYWAY thank you so much to everyone who reviewed and followed and faved this little...weird story. I appreciate it so much! if you have any questions or just wanna complain to me or whatever, feel free to hit up my Tumblr! (shameless self promo)

and I hope you enjoyed this chapter!


	3. beauty is pain (and possibly death)

**3**

Fumiko does return, only moments after Madara leaves. Saeko is naked except for her push up bra when Fumiko walks in, beaming ear to ear.

"What a sight to return to," she says, giving Saeko a rare kiss on the cheek.

"You're happy."

"Why of course I am! It's a beautiful, sunny day and I have a beautiful woman in my room."

Saeko looks out the window. There are dark clouds in the sky, and she thinks it has started spitting.

"Madara-kun came by," Saeko says, tightening the silk straps at the back. When Fumiko sees her struggling, her cool calloused hands help, redoing the knot so tight that Saeko nearly gasps.

"I'm aware," Fumiko chirps. "I felt him leave."

Saeko's nose wrinkles. Now, she's fairly sure that her and Fumiko aren't exclusive or anything, but for Fumiko to outwardly feel him up...and feel him leave?

Fumiko laughs at Saeko's expression. "Oh, it's shinobi talk. You know how I mentioned chakra? I can sense it. Not that well, but Madara is a powerhouse and always wants to let people now how _strong_ he is."

Immediately, Saeko tunes out and focuses on Fumiko's hands touching her back. Sensing people? Ridiculous.

"So you're avoiding him."

"Don't you think he's an irksome man? Wouldn't you avoid him to?"

Saeko's pretty sure all men are irksome. Madara-kun is no exception to the various other men she's met in her life. Her father was a simpleton, a turnip farmer, so it makes sense that all other men in this world are just like him.

Fumiko takes her hands off Saeko's back. "He'll be back, anyway. They always are."

"He's interested in you?"

"Are you jealous?"

This is a difficult question. No, Saeko isn't _jealous_ in the sense that she's upset that Fumiko will be with someone else. It's rather that the someone else is Madara-kun, a man with both a questionable personality _and_ a questionable fashion sense.

"You don't need to be anyway," Fumiko says. "I'm pretty sure the only thing he's interested in is death and destruction.

This is the only redeeming thing she's heard about Madara-kun.

"Sounds like a good hobby," Saeko says, and and then they go prepare breakfast together.

* * *

It seems Fumiko is doing her job too well in avoiding Madara-kun. One day when Saeko finishes work with Tori-sensei, he's waiting outside.

Tori-sensei grimaces at the sight. "What do you want, shinobi?" she snaps.

Saeko shoots him a glare, warning him to be quiet or _else_.

"I'm here to see her," says the King of Tact.

At once, Tori-sensei gives Saeko a scandalised look. "First that woman buying you all those clothes and now _this_? I knew you were trouble. If your stitches were as bad as your disgusting personality, you'd be out on the streets, begging!"

Saeko highly doubts this. She wouldn't be begging, she'd be _stealing_. She's not an idiot.

Madara-kun stares at Tori-sensei as if she's an annoying flea about to be squished by his armoured boots, which Saeko can honestly relate to.

He doesn't speak as they walk down the street back to the inn.

"Well?" Saeko demands. "You wanted to see me, and here I am in all my glory."

She can tell he's just trying to be dramatic and brooding but it's not working. He just looks stupid. From his stupid hair, to the dumb guitar, he looks straight out of a screamo band. The bags under his eyes and the littering of scars on the strips of skin visible don't help, either.

"Listen, Madara-kun," Saeko begins, because just looking at him is making her queasy. "I don't care what's going on between you and Fumiko. But quite frankly, you need help."

This seems to make him perk up.

"I didn't realise Fumiko was training you to follow in her footsteps," Madara-kun says.

"What?"

He frowns. "I need poison. You just I said needed help, so I presume you are going to supply me with it?"

" _What?_ "

"I'm not going to repeat myself."

They've stopped outside of a sweet shop. Saeko considers going in and seeing how rich Madara-kun is and if he would pay for things for her, but his stare is becoming murderous.

"Look, sweetie—"

"Excuse me?" Madara-kun interrupts, his voice rising.

"Look, _sweetie_ , I don't know what your problem is, but trust me. Poison should be the _last_ thing on your mind right now. Come with me."

She leaves and doesn't bother looking back to see if he follows. Yes, sure, she's doing this for him, but it's also for _her_. And even if he doesn't follow along, Saeko will just ambush him another time.

For whatever reason, Madara-kun follows. The room inside the inn is empty, but by the looks of the warm food sitting on the table, Fumiko only recently evacuated.

Madara-kun scowls at the table.

"Number one, your _manners_. Please just—no, actually, don't smile. You'd look ridiculous! But maybe just...I feel like you could pull off the brooding expression. Just don't do anything. Keep your face neutral. No, no, you're still scowling. _No_ , that's worse! Are you even listening to me?"

"No," Madara-kun says at once, and how rude! "This is utterly ridiculous."

She watches him as he begins to scour the room head-to-toe, peering into cupboards, putting his ear to walls.

"If you're looking for my push up bra, it's wrapped in my futon. I was scared someone would steal it and then take my ideas! And then where would I be?"

He says nothing.

"I don't think Fumiko keeps her...stuff here," Saeko says, because she's never actually seen Fumiko wear armour or carry weapons. She's only seen her coated in blood.

Madara-kun's eye twitches. "She's always been insufferable."

This statement ignites a rare curiosity within Saeko. Fumiko doesn't reveal much emotionally. And she's an interesting and attractive woman. _And_ clearly Madara-kun has somehow known her for a long time and they have some kind of working relationship that Fumiko wants to avoid.

But Madara-kun is gone when Saeko turns around to ask him.

Shinobi are idiots.

And so Madara-kun appearing and disppearing and then moments later Fumiko appearing and disappearing becomes a part of Saeko's routine. In her opinion, it's like some weird type of shinobi flirting or mating call, except for the fact that Fumiko actually doesn't seem to like Madara-kun that much.

Also Madara-kun is Madara-kun.

Her lessons with Tori-sensei continue for the rest of the year. The old crone continues to not know Saeko's name yet at the same time, grudgingly respect her talent. Saeko is soon allowed to take over for more serious orders, until finally, just before her eighteenth birthday, Tori-sensei takes her with her to see the daimyo's daughter.

Saeko doesn't sleep the night before. She's restless all night, meaning Fumiko is restless, and then they both become even more restless together.

She's expecting an elegant palace-fortress-type-thing, an elegant daughter, an elegant bed, elegant clothes, elegant _everything_.

What she isn't expecting is Madara-kun standing guard.

"What are you doing here?" Madara-kun demands when her and Tori-sensei approach the daimyo's daughter's room.

"Oh, it's you. You're that shinobi," Tori-sensei says, shaking her head and tutting. "Step to the side. We're here to fit the daimyo's daughter with clothes worthy of her status. Not that _you_ would know that."

Madara-kun doesn't look the least perturbed by Tori-sensei's admonishment. He steps aside and opens the door for them, before slamming it shut behind.

"A rude, rude man," Tori-sensei murmurs, before forcing an ugly smile onto her face to greet the daimyo's daughter.

The daimyo's daughter is also not what Fumiko is expecting. She's pretty, sure, but quite bland. There's something almost sickly about her, as if she never sees the light of day.

"Yuka-sama," Tori-sensei greets, dropping into a low bow. When Saeko doesn't do this, she gets a bony elbow into her stomach.

"Tori-san," Yuka-san responds, and even her voice sounds sickly.

Yuka-sama is _boring_.

She doesn't say anything the entire time they fit her, doesn't appreciate the colours, the patterns, the _materials_. She just stares at her reflection in the looking glass, sullen and happen.

Saeko knows that if she ever gets to wear a _hizikuri_ , she will be jumping for joy.

And Yuka — she doesn't _deserve_ respect — isn't even smiling. She looks _sad_!

When Tori-sensei goes to get the daimyo to see if he approves of the work, Yuka turns to her.

"Are you new?" she asks.

Saeko remembers Tori-sensei's stern lecture about being _polite_ and all that bullshit. She forces herself to think of Yuka as a future client. Just a future _boring_ client.

"Yeah," Saeko says. "I'm Tori-sensei's apprentice."

"I did not realise Tori-san took on apprentices."

Saeko shrugs. "Yeah, well, I didn't give her much choice."

This brings the first smile to Yuka's face. "You are not from here, are you? You seem very...out of place."

Oh, she has _no_ idea just how out of place Saeko really is.

"Nah, I'm from this little town out in the middle of nowhere. My parents are turnip farmers."

"They must miss you terribly."

What a stupid thing to say. Even if they did, Saeko doesn't care. They could miss her all they liked, but she's pretty sure they don't know what emotions are. They're _turnip farmers_.

"They're turnip farmers," Saeko repeats her thoughts, as if this explains all.

Yuka frowns, but then her father and Tori-sensei walk in.

Her father scrutinises every part of the _hizikuri_ , making dumb suggestions that Tori-sensei hastens to agree with. He has no eye for colour, no eye for pattern, no eye for fashion.

"Do you want your daughter to look like a peasant?" Saeko interrupts when he's telling them to remove the colour altogether.

Tori-sensei gives a devastated cry while the daimyo turns to her with a piercing look.

"Excuse me?" he snaps.

"Look at her! She's so pale, all that white is just gonna make her look ridiculous. Like a walking snowball! No one wants to date _that_."

"My daughter is not looking for dates, you uneducated swine," the daimyo hisses. "She is looking for suitors!"

"What's a _suitor_?" Saeko asks, wrinkling her nose, but before she can continue, Tori-sensei has a bony elbow dug into her stomach, efficiently winding and silencing Saeko.

Tori-sensei literally drops onto her knees. "Kaito-sama, please I must implore you to forgive me. I know taking on this girl was not a good idea, and bringing her here an even less one, but I thought she could handle this. Trust me, Kaito-sama, she will be punished severely."

Kaito-fucking- _sama_ stares at Saeko. "I should have you killed."

Tori-sensei doesn't even disagree with this.

"Please, Father," the timid voice of Yuka says, voice so soft it's hard to hear lying on the ground, winded. "I am certain she did not mean any offence. She is not from here. I do not want any harm caused over this."

Kaito, the dumbass, visibly softens and nods at his daughter. "Of course, Yuka." He regards Saeko for a moment. " _Uchiha!_ " he barks without warning.

Saeko blinks from where she's lying on the ground. Is Uchiha some city-folk insult?

Madara-kun walks in, voice void of any emotion. "Yes, daimyo-sama?"

"Escort this woman out immediately."

"Of course, daimyo-sama."

Without any care, Saeko is dragged up by her wrist and out of the room, Tori-sensei and the daimyo glaring the entire way, whereas Yuka doesn't even meet her eyes.

The moment they are outside, Madara-kun drops her.

"I believe you are without a job now," he says.

She rolls her eyes. "Thanks! Wow! I never would have guessed! Are you a fortune teller, Madara-kun?"

"Don't be ridiculous."

"Anyway, I don't care. It's fate! Destiny! My future is _clearly_ elsewhere. Besides, anyone who agrees with that piece of shit daimyo doesn't deserve to have me as their apprentice. I wouldn't even take Tori-sensei on as _my_ apprentice."

"I suppose when Fumiko is paying for everything, it wouldn't concern you."

Saeko scowls at him, because it sounds like he just made a dig at her. "I pay her back."

Madara's eyes narrow. "In what?"

"What do you think, Madara-kun? I'm from the country. We get up to all sorts of wild nights in the country."

This is a huge lie. The most exciting that happened when Saeko lived in her hick town was...well...

She can't remember.

So basically nothing happened. But Madara, a through and through spoilt city man, wouldn't know that.

"Anyway, doesn't matter. I'm off! Good luck trying to catch Fumiko off guard."

Of course, though Saeko acted like she didn't care in front of Madara, she _does_ care. A lot. Tori-sensei is dumb and cruel, but it was a job. And now she doesn't have a job.

And she barely spent any time in the daimyo's palace at all! She only briefly saw that it had _electricity_. This means that this world has _some_ semblance of being cultured.

Fumiko is consoling that night.

"It was about time, Saeko-chan," she says. "Surely you know enough now to start your own business? And you must have made an impression on the daimyo's daughter, at least."

To Fumiko, any impression is a good one.

Saeko's in a foul mood until her eighteenth birthday, where Fumiko surprises her with a variety of gifts: hairpins, an elegant _hizikuri_ that Saeko fawns over for hours, and finally an ornate dagger with a thigh holster.

"You want to be fashionable but also deadly," Fumiko says, which immediately inspires an idea in Saeko's mind.

Sewing metal embellishments into a kimono. Style and protection!

She deliberately walks past Tori's shop wearing her _hizikuri_ , and when she makes eye contact with the ugly woman, Tori scowls and looks like she wants to commit murder.

Good.

There's nothing quite like elaborate and expensive gifts to lighten your mood.

And though Saeko now wakes up, unsure what to do with herself, she can at least focus on her own more personal goals.

It's not only fashion that Saeko takes an interest in. Beauty was an integral part of Rachel Greenwood's life.

Beauty in the capitol is basically _non existent_. There's make-up, but it's basic. There's no vivid blue eyeshadow, no highlighter — though Saeko has enough teenage shine on her t-zone to make up for no highlighter — no _primer_ for the hideous atrocity these people seem to think is foundation.

And _skin care_! Fumiko said that people here die early, which must be why they didn't care at all for the quality of their skin.

Saeko's disgusted. But she knows enough about homemade DIY skin care to work with it. What she doesn't know, though, is packaging.

Most mornings Saeko browses the small market that occurs every day. She can't just go to her local hardware store and purchase a tin, because any kind of metal is expensive, it seems, as well as glass.

Wood is the standard. But wood is filthy. Wood is _alive_ and will mix with Saeko's concoctions and ruin them.

"You're obsessed with this, aren't you?" Fumiko asks one morning when she accompanies her to the market while looking around with feigned nonchalance every now and then, still avoiding Madara.

"Of course I'm obsessed. This is how I'm gonna be rich."

Fumiko smiles in an indulgent way.

Saeko's first concoction is a failed attempt at bleach.

When Rachel Greenwood was six, her mother refused to let her use actual bleach to become a blonde. So, Rachel mixed lemon juice and oil and applied it in her hair and sat in the sun for hours, unmoving.

However, Rachel Greenwood had light brown hair.

Saeko has dark hair.

Her hair turns on an odd copper colour that she vaguely knew would happen, but forgot.

"Are you supposed to look like a carrot?" Fumiko asks as they eat dinner.

"No. It failed. It definitely failed."

Fumiko smiles. "You know that chakra affects your hair, right? Perhaps you could experiment with that."

"What is _chakra_? Some of that weird fire-breathing stuff?"

"Kind of. It's difficult to explain."

Saeko doesn't care. People bleached their hair in her old world without chakra or whatever, so she can do that.

When Madara-kun does his usual morning visit to try and hunt down Fumiko and surprise her, he stares at Saeko for a solid minute before even speaking.

"I _know_ , I know. It's the greatest travesty of life. Being a redhead. I know, trust me, I know. It's gonna be fixed."

Madara-kun simply raises an eyebrow. "How does one mess up that terribly?"

She sighs and goes to the cupboard where she's keeping the failed concoction, showing him the tin containing oil and lemon juice. He peers in and gives her a deadpan look.

"Look, this tiny town doesn't have the things I need!"

"And what _things_ could you possibly need?"

Chemicals. Saeko kind of remembers what chemicals went into bleach. But she's pretty sure those were constructed in labs or something. She didn't exactly _pass_ chemistry in high school.

"I need chemicals," Saeko says. She's not sure how smart Madara-kun is, but she doesn't think he's the brightest bulb in the box. His hair is too big.

Madara-kun's face begins to grow even more menacing than usual. Not that Saeko's intimidated. He looks stupider the more he tries to look intimidating, but his effort is noted.

"I knew Fumiko was training you," he snaps. "Tell me what she's taught you immediately. I need this poison and—"

" _Poison_?" Saeko interrupts. "Um, no. Look, I know you and Fumiko are into this weird killing thing and look, I appreciate this weird dark and brooding aesthetic you're trying to aim for, it definitely goes with the whole death and destruction thing, but poison? _Me_ and poison? I'm not about that."

"You said—"

"Yeah, it's to put on my hair!" Saeko interrupts once again. Men are so stupid. They need to be interrupted. "Not to like, ingest or anything."

Madara-kun looks oddly thoughtful for a moment. It's kind of odd, seeing him try to think.

"Ask Fumiko for help," he demands. "She knows all about chemicals."

Saeko blinks. He's being helpful. "Oh. Okay?"

Of course, before Saeko can ask anymore questions about his sudden attempt at being helpful, he's disappeared in that way he undoubtedly thinks is mysterious, when really it just makes him more of an asshole.

Fumiko returns that night, and Saeko ambushes her.

"So you know how you were giving me suggestions to use chakra for the hair thing? Well, I don't want chakra. I don't get it and I don't care. _But_ what I do need is chemicals. Y'know, like...man made stuff. Kind of."

Fumiko's smooth face gives nothing away. Saeko would kill for pores like hers. Not actually, of course. Maybe accidentally kill, but not on _purpose_.

"Of course I know about chemicals, dear Saeko. You want to put them on your hair? That's not usually what they're for."

Now _this_ is why people in this world look so atrocious. They're so concerned with safety!

Saeko sighs. "I know. I just really need this, okay?"

It takes all of dinner for Saeko to try and explain what she needs. She doesn't really get how far science has come in this world. She doesn't understand science herself. However, Rachel Greenwood had constantly looked at a bleach bottle, so Saeko can distinctly remember the chemicals on the back of it.

Hydrogen peroxide. Sodium percarbonate. And then sometimes just sodium hypochlorite. Saeko also vaguely remembers something to do with chlorine.

She describes these to Fumiko as simple as she can without seeming too suspicious at the start, because what kind of country gal would know about these things? Eventually Saeko gives up and starts rambling on with everything she can possibly remember.

"—and when you heat it, it like, I dunno, kind of stuffs up. Like it goes weird or something."

Somehow, Fumiko understands and disappears for days on end. Madara-kun doesn't show up in that time period either, leaving Saeko feeling oddly lonely.

But no, she isn't _lonely_. She doesn't care about loneliness. It's boredom. It's being restless. She's not lonely or anything ridiculous like that.

Fumiko returns with a tin pot that contains a bunch of powders.

It smells nearly exactly like bleach.

Saeko simply gapes at her.

"Rich people," Fumiko says, shrugging. "They have it all. Electricity, chemicals, everything you can dream of."

So Saeko spends an entire day experimenting the powder as well as making her own conditioner with water, avocado, vinegar and oil. She ignores Fumiko's constant suggestions about utilising chakra. Who cares about that weird stuff?

She applies her final product to her hair and leaves it in there for an hour. Her hair is slightly less orange looking but still very much orange _y_.

It takes her an entire weekend before her hair is the desired platinum blonde. Fumiko smiles widely when Saeko emerges from the bathroom, revealing her fresh — but also definitely dead — new hair.

"It feels terrible," Fumiko comments as she slides her fingers through it.

"I'll make a hair mask. It'll be fine."

That night, oddly enough, Fumiko leaves and then Madara-kun comes in a second later, however it feels like this time he was waiting for Fumiko to leave, instead of Fumiko avoiding him.

"You did it, I see," he says, staring at her hair disdainfully.

"Yup! Isn't it stunning?" Saeko says, flipping her hair behind her shoulder. Except it doesn't really work, because her hair is so brittle.

Madara-kun nods, but it seems fake. "Could you show me what you used?"

Now, Saeko _loves_ a chance to talk about her products. And of course for someone like Madara-kun to show interest is exciting!

She produces the tin with her concoction and explains the elaborate process of adding the cream solution she made to it, as well as how many different tries it took, as well as the proper after care involved.

After all of this helpful information, Madara-kun takes the tin from her hand before she can even see him move.

"I need this," is all he says before disappearing.

Now, Saeko doesn't really think Madara-kun can pull off the platinum blonde look, but hey, if he wants to try, then that's fine!

The following day, the daimyo dies.

"He was poisoned," Fumiko says over breakfast, looking annoyed.

"What? I thought he was protected constantly."

"Oh, I don't think so."

Saeko's pretty sure Fumiko is an idiot, because surely _she_ knows that Madara-kun is guarding the daimyo. She wonders if he's going to catch the killer.

Oh well. It doesn't concern her.

* * *

 **A/N:** and this chapter is actually on time! Anyway, thank you so so much for everyone who reviewed/followed/faved or just read and enjoyed! i know this story is kind of weird but oh well. it's just a bit of light hearted fun

also I feel like I could write a thesis on the discrepancies of modern technology in Naruto. it's something that will kind of be explored in this fic but yeah. it's confusing and i'm confused about it tbh

thank you so much for reading!


	4. boss ass bride

**4**

It takes Saeko about a month for her hair to go back to the beautiful and glossy quality it originally was. It was a long month of smothering her hair in oil and honey and all types of weird other things that kind of stunk.

But as Saeko stares into the mirror, watching the way her platinum blonde hair shines in the shitty lighting, it's definitely worth it. Sure, she's got one month worth of regrowth now, but that's kind of a look in a way. She adds to the look and gives herself a sharp short cut, her straight hair hanging just below her ears. She looks good, and she knows it.

One project down, many _many_ more to go.

Although it's not even really finished, considering Madara-kun stole her concoction and has yet to give it back. Not that she really minds. She just hopes that when he next emerges from whatever cave he went into, he'll have _amazing_ platinum blonde hair.

Saeko hasn't told Fumiko about this, mostly because Fumiko has spent the last month looking sullen and pissed off.

"Is it 'cause Madara-kun left?" Saeko asks, but this only makes Fumiko scowl.

It's weird, because usually Saeko's the one who gets in moods, like that one time she ripped her best kimono and cried in bed for three days. Fumiko is the grounded one, whatever that means.

Saeko learns, not because she _wants_ to, that the Uchiha have been kicked out. She doesn't really understand how anyone could kick Madara-kun out of anywhere. If he wanted to stay, he would stay.

But the Uchiha clan are gone, and so is the daimyo.

Now, of course, this is a national tragedy. Or international. Saeko's not really sure what either of those words mean and the differences between the two, but it's definitely one of them

It doesn't matter, though. There are more important things.

Death equals funeral. Funeral equals fashion. Funeral fashion!

Yuka is going to need an amazing outfit to wear. Something _revolutional_ now that she's the daimyo.

Fumiko destroys these dreams.

"Women can't become the daimyo, Saeko," Fumiko explains, sounding unusually impatient.

"But—"

"No, there is no _but_. They can't."

"Then who's gonna become the daimyo?"

Fumiko sighs. She's sharpening her weird shinobi knives. "I'm sure they'll marry her off to some fat advisor who will fuck her and then leave."

Yuka was boring when Saeko met her. However she did save her life. Kind of. Saeko's pretty sure that if the daimyo _had_ tried to cut off her head, she would have destroyed him somehow. Either way, Yuka tried.

But that's not even the important part. Yuka is going to be deprived of an amazing fashion opportunity. One that wouldn't normally occur in Saeko's old world and that's saying something.

A crowning. Surely daimyo's get crowned or something? Either way, Yuka is missing out on some weird coronation to become the daimyo just because she's a female. Or maybe it'll just be a wedding?

"Where are you going?" Fumiko asks when Saeko goes to put on her shoes after breakfast. "I thought you were experimenting with a—what did you call it?"

"Eyelash curler," Saeko explains. "But no, not today. I have more pressing issues! My dignity is at stake."

"Alright, see you at dinner then."

It's a bit of a rude dismissal, but Saeko soldiers on. Surprisingly, it's fairly easy to get into the daimyo's weird unstylish fortress. The guards are all idiots who are easy to evade, not like the Uchiha who were guarding before.

Yuka's room is harder to find. There are _thousands_ of elegant bedrooms here that are empty. If they're empty, then surely Saeko can just live in one?

Saeko's out of breath when she finds Yuka's room, where inside Yuka is in bed despite it being noon.

"Yuka!" Saeko shouts, ripping the covers off. "What are you doing in bed?"

After Yuka sits up, she simply stares. "I—Saeko-san—"

"No, we don't have time for you to fumble over things. Get up!"

"I do not think you should be here, Saeko-san," Yuka says, sliding out of bed and fidgeting from foot to foot. "I already have a seamstress."

"No, stop. Don't _ever_ say that word again, Yuka."

Yuka goes bright red.

"Seamstress. What a vile word. No! I am a fashion revolution. A walking, talking, breathing fashion revolution. You are going to walk into the daimyo's funeral looking like a _boss_. Looking like the strong, independent woman you can be!"

The flush grows. "I think, Saeko-san—"

"No. Whatever you think is most likely wrong. You can't let Tori destroy this chance to show all those gross people who want to marry you who is _really_ boss."

"Tori-san already made my mofuku, Saeko-san," Yuka interjects, her voice calm. "The ceremony is tomorrow."

Saeko scowls. "Show it to me."

The mofuku reeks of Tori-sensei's work, in the sense that it's outdated, boring, bland and sensible. There's nothing remotely interesting about it. And it's _black_.

"No, this is just awful," Saeko says, wrinkling her nose as she examines the mofuku. Sure, the the stitching is _impeccable_ and Saeko would trade her left foot for that kind of talent but that's where the praise ends.

"Saeko-san, if my advisors knew you were here," Yuka begins, her voice gentle. She doesn't even continue. She just leaves the subtle kind-of threat hanging.

"Yuka, sorry, but I just really don't care about your advisors or whatever. They could hang me right now and I wouldn't care! Actually, that's a lie. They could hang me _after_ I designed an amazing garment for you and then I wouldn't care."

Saeko isn't sure what part of her amazing mini speech is tear inducing — of course she's not surprised, though, because after all Saeko _is_ a genius — but Yuka bursts into tears.

"Oh," is all Saeko says. "Um."

Yuka shakes her head, pulling out a dainty white handkerchief from literally nowhere. "I am so sorry, Saeko-san," she sobs, her words barely distinguishable, so it sounds more like _I'm swo sworry_. "It is just—these past few days have been so overwhelming. Did you know I am getting married in a week?"

"A _week!_ Why didn't you give me more notice? I need more notice to design your wedding outfit, Yuka!"

This only makes Yuka cry harder. She's an ugly cryer. Her already bland face simply becomes unattractive, her nose doubling in size, her pale face flushing so she looks like a tomato.

"Okay, okay. Just—stop. Enough." When Yuka continues to sniffle away, Saeko scowls. " _Pull yourself together!_ " she screams, so loud that Yuka tenses and then hurries to the door to shut it.

Yuka shakes her head and wipes away the tears. "Okay," she whispers. "Okay."

"Now, listen to me. This is what we're gonna do. I say we because we, as in you and I, are now officially a team. We are basically the same person. I mean emotionally and spiritually, not physically obviously. You may have the bigger boobs, but I have the better everything else. _Anyway_. This is the plan. You can keep that boring mofuku that Tori made. _But_ _!_ I am in charge of what you wear to the wedding. Do you understand? Me. No one else."

"Saeko-san, Tori-san already—"

"I don't care. You are going to walk into that wedding ceremony and you are going to dominate whoever you are marrying. It doesn't matter if he's an asshole as long as you look good!"

"Saeko-san, I—"

"Enough _Saeko-san_. I'm Saeko. I'm not some old crusty woman like Tori. I'm _me_. And I'm sick of your interruptions! This is happening, whether you like it or not. If I need to take Tori out to do it, trust me, I will."

Yuka frowns. "Take her out?" she says, drawing the words out. "As in—"

"As in _take her out_. Anyway, it doesn't matter. That won't happen. The important thing is your _wedding outfit_. Now I need to take some measurements and get home as fast as I can, because a week is barely any time at all to create a masterpiece. But that doesn't matter. You deserve the best, so I'm gonna give you the best."

Fortunately, Yuka stays silent as Saeko takes her measurements. She has a feeling they're smaller than the last time Tori took them, which is ridiculous. Her father just _died_. That's reason enough for celebration, and celebrations for Saeko involve a lot of food.

Fumiko isn't there when Saeko arrives back at the inn. It doesn't matter, though. Saeko has more important things to worry about.

There's a few rolls of fabric Tori gave her to practise with that Saeko hasn't used. The idea she had awhile ago about incorporating armour is still flashing around in her head. It seems like the perfect chance to test it out, as well. Saeko imagines the doors opening to reveal Yuka in her wedding garment, a beautiful white kimono with red trimming and instead of the usual obi, a metal embellishment.

Saeko busts out the white silk and grabs some red cotton and gets to work.

For the next few days, she barely talks to Fumiko. Or maybe it's that Fumiko barely talks to her. The few times Saeko _does_ talk to her, Fumiko is distracted. She's always walking around in her armour now, as well.

The only actual conversation they have is when Saeko asks Fumiko for some of her armour.

"What do you mean?" Fumiko asks. She's peering intently at a scroll and doesn't even look up.

"I wanna add some metal embellishing to this kimono. So instead of the obi, the excess fabric is tucked in with like a metal clasp, y'know."

Fumiko doesn't look up. "You'll have to get it cast. I can't do that for you."

"Okay then."

Saeko can't help but be annoyed at Fumiko for the next few days. The blacksmith doesn't seem to find her queries and orders _urgent_ enough, and it's not until Saeko is piling money onto his table until it's spilling off that he agrees.

"Fucking country women," she hears him mumble under her breath.

"Well maybe I _am_ a country woman! But I'm still better than you."

He looks at her incredulously. "Do you want me to make this for you or not?"

"Of course I do. Just be quick about it."

Saeko gets her metal embellishment, and as much as she hated the blacksmith and his distinct lack of regard for _her_ and also personal hygiene, he's got talent. He's like the metal Tori — annoying and stupid but talented.

Fumiko isn't even there when Saeko finishes the garment the day before the wedding. She's been gone for days, busy doing this and that and probably murdering people. Normally Saeko would be curious — how is she murdering these people, exactly? But there's a wedding tomorrow.

When Yuka simply stares at the _uchikake_ , Saeko takes this as the most esteemed compliment. It looks _amazing_ , in her opinion. White silk with red flowers — roses, specifically, even though she's never seen a rose in this world but whatever — sewed in, the branches and brambles black. And then there's the red lining and cuffs and finally, the metal embellishment.

"What is... _that_?" Yuka asks.

"That is your uchikake! Oh, you mean the metal thing. Well, I wanted to spice it up a little, y'know. Now let's get you into it!"

If Saeko thought it looked beautiful _before_ , afterwards is another thing entirely. Yuka looks radiant in it, her usual sunken in face looking fuller — though maybe that's the make up — and her skinny body looking bigger.

"Oh, Yuka," Saeko says as they both stare at the uchikake in the mirror. "Yuka, I never thought I'd ever say this. But you actually look good!"

Yuka blinks. "Oh. Thank you, Saeko-san."

"I mean, I look better but that's just how life works! But still. You look...Yuka, you look _beautiful!_ "

The words have the opposite effect Saeko wanted. Yuka begins to tear up, her lips trembling as her nose starts to go all red.

"No, Yuka, no, stop! You're ruining it!"

This doesn't help. She just continues to cry.

"I just—I can't help it, Saeko-san. It's—I actually—it's _nice_."

Without warning, Yuka wraps her arms around Saeko, intertwining them in a rather one-sided hug. But this is her special day. So Saeko pats her on the back and allows it to happen for three seconds before pushing her away.

"Okay, enough hugging or whatever. Pull yourself together. You are going to walk out there and—"

" _What is the meaning of this!_ "

Saeko had forgot just how ugly Tori is. Tori stands at the door, staring at them with disgust, her own creation in her arms.

"Um, I thought that would have been obvious, Tori. You're fired. You're done. _I_ made Yuka's uchikake and it's amazing."

Tori stares at Yuka. "Yuka-sama, you cannot seriously wear something like that. It would be—I know you are going through a difficult time, and I do not meant to pry, but—"

"Oh fuck off, Tori," Saeko snaps. "Stop licking her ass and go give your dumb design to someone else!"

Both Yuka and Tori turn bright red, but before either of them can be stupid and remove Saeko's creation, a guard appears.

"Yuka-sama, the wedding is about to commence," he says, voice monotone. He stares at Saeko. "Are you supposed to be here?"

"No, she is _not_ ," Tori interjects. "She is—"

"She is," Yuka interrupts smoothly, like the fucking bad ass she is now. "She's with me. But this woman is not supposed to be here." Yuka points to Tori.

Before Tori can scream murder, the guard grabs her and drags her away, Tori's uchikake dropping to the floor as he does. Saeko quickly grabs it, because the stitching is just too damn good to waste.

"You cannot come into the wedding, Saeko-san. I am sorry about that," Yuka says. "But—I cannot thank you enough."

Saeko grins. "Yuka, it was my _pleasure_. You look like a fucking bad ass in it."

Yuka flushes. "I—well—yes I suppose, I—"

"Now go out there and get married."

* * *

For the next few days, Saeko is the talk of the town. She's not sure how people found out where she's staying, but there's a constant stream of people in and out of her and Fumiko's room, not that Fumiko is even there. And they all want _clothes_ , and they all fawn over her creation and her creativity and —

It's a dream come true.

Saeko takes five orders in the first week after the wedding and sets to work. Every single one of them want the metal embellishment she put on Yuka's _uchikake,_ so she's forced to trek down to the blacksmith once more.

He stares at her, mouth gaping when she enters.

"What?" Saeko demands.

"I—do you know how many people have been asking for that... _thing_ you forced me to make?"

" _What!_ They're stealing my idea, how fucking dare they! Who was it? Who is it? I bet you they're just gonna shove it on their old kimono! I can't believe—"

"I said no," he interrupts, cutting her off by raising one dry and filthy hand. He needs a serious manicure. "But I might still say yes. If you give me a percentage of the profits for any garments you make with metal, I'll supply you and _only_ you. That way if they want metal, they have to come to you. It's a win-win for the both of us."

Saeko narrows her eyes. "But how much do you want?"

And so begins Saeko struggling to compromise with a dumb blacksmith. And, well, it may also be a struggle because Saeko hasn't done basic maths in about...

Well, _never_. Rachel Greenwood certainly didn't know anything about maths, and neither does Saeko.

"I'll tell you what," Saeko interrupts whatever silly figure he was trying to explain. "I'll draw up a contract that we can both sign and agree to. How does that sound?"

He sighs, and mumbles something that sounds like _fucking country women._ "I guess that will do."

"Great! Well, I'll be back here around tomorrow, how 'bout that?"

Saeko leaves the blacksmith with no metal but with something much better — _ambition_ and _planning_. She just needs to find someone smart who knows maths and percentages and numbers. She's so distracted with thinking of people to ask that she doesn't even notice Fumiko's sitting on their futon when she returns to the room.

"Saeko."

The interruption to her thoughts makes Saeko scream and jump before relaxing. "Oh. Fumiko. You scared me."

Fumiko smiles slightly. "Clearly." She looks around at the mess of fabrics and writing all around the room. "I heard about what you did. It seems like your dream is finally coming true."

"Of course it is!" Saeko says, beaming. "Yuka looked amazing in my design."

"I'm sure she did."

There's an awkward silence, which is weird because things are _never_ awkward between her and Fumiko. They're either sleeping together, sleeping _next_ to each other, eating together, bitching together and so there's just no room for awkward.

"Saeko, I'm leaving."

The awkward silence vanishes and is replaced by — Saeko's not sure what. She's not sure what she's feeling. Or if she's feeling. Is this feeling?

"I—what do you mean?"

"I'm leaving," Fumiko repeats. "I have things I need to do and sort out."

"But we—" Saeko stops, unsure what to say.

Fumiko sighs. "Your dream is finally happening. I couldn't possibly ask you to leave now."

Saeko's not sure what she would do if Fumiko did ask her to leave with her.

"I have to leave, Saeko," Fumiko says.

It's very irritating, because Saeko feels the vague prickle of...something in her eyes. Her eyes are watering. She must have an eyelash in them.

Fumiko touches Saeko's cheek, smiling. "I'm sure we'll see each other again."

Saeko nods and rubs at her eyes. "I think I have an eyelash in both of my eyes."

"Of course."

All of Fumiko's things are packed up into her cart outside. Saeko scrubs at her eyes in the bathroom and then watches Fumiko neatly fold and put away all her clothes, until the cupboard looks bare and the futon lying on the ground looks too big for just one person.

They share one last kiss, and Saeko can't hide her smile when she tastes her homemade lip balm on Fumiko's lips.

"We'll see each other soon," Fumiko promises, squeezing her hand.

And then just like that, she's gone, left the room.

The room that Saeko now has to pay for.

Despite all the clothes and order information sprawled around the room, it's never felt so empty.

There's a knock on the door before Saeko can rub at her eyes until the eyelash falls out. It slides open and Madara-kun stands there, looking his usual silly self in his weird armour and guitar thing.

"Madara-kun," Saeko says, unable to hold her surprise. "What are you doing here?"

His eyes scan the room. "Fumiko left."

"Yeah."

"Are you upset?"

Saeko snorts. "Do you care if I'm upset?"

"Not particularly."

"Then don't bother asking."

A minuscule smile graces his lips. "Of course."

"And I don't know where she went," Saeko continues, already sick of his presence. She's not quite sure why he aggravates her so much. Or why she's so worked up to begin with. Maybe it's the hair.

"That wasn't what I came for."

He holds up her first attempt at constructing an eyelash curler that she stored in one of the pockets of her kimono a week before the wedding.

"Hey, that's mine!" Saeko snatches it out of his hands, cradling it against her chest. "Do you have any idea how valuable this is? How revolutionary this is?"

"As a matter of fact, I do. I underestimated your creativity."

Saeko frowns. "My creativity?"

"I would never have thought ripping eyelashes out would be an effective method of torture, but it is. I tested it. It works."

For a moment Saeko thinks she heard wrong. And then she drops the eyelash curler on the ground.

" _What?_ " she screams.

Madara-kun reaches down and picks the fucking _torture weapon_ off the ground. "I'll keep it, then."

"No, no. You can't keep it! You're...you're destroying my fashion integrity. I mean, I know beauty _is_ pain sometimes, but not like _actual fucking pain!_ "

"The intended meaning is irrelevant. It is whatever the buyer makes it out to be."

The word _buyer_ peaks Saeko's attention. Now, sure, ripping someone's eyelashes out is horrifying and a travesty, because eyelashes can honestly make a look. However, if Madara-kun is willing to buy her eyelash curler, then —

"Well then, how much are you willing to pay for it?" Saeko asks, once again snatching the eyelash curler from him. "I'm not just giving you things for free. Especially not when you're probably rich and have never bought me a gift."

He frowns. "You're too used to Fumiko's indulgent personality."

"Maybe I am. Doesn't change the fact that I'm not giving this to you until you pay me."

"You were just saying before that you did not want to destroy your fashion integrity."

"Yeah, well, that was _before_ you mentioned money."

"So money comes before your fashion integrity, is that what you are saying?"

Saeko rolls her eyes. "Of course it does, don't be daft."

Madara-kun smiles. It's really, really weird. He looks ridiculous. Saeko looks away. It's disgusting.

"How much are you willing to pay?" Saeko asks, looking at the wall.

She hears the clink of money in a bag. He forces it into her hands. Saeko quickly opens it and does a brief guess, staring at it blankly.

"That's—"

"Will that be adequate?" Madara-kun interrupts.

It's way more than adequate. Saeko doesn't have to worry about Fumiko being gone and paying for the room. This would _more_ than cover it. Now she has no reason to be upset! Not that she is.

"Yes, Madara-kun." She hands him the eyelash curler. "It was lovely doing business with you once again. You'll buy again, won't you?"

Madara-kun cradles the eyelash curler almost lovingly to his armoured chest. "I certainly will."

* * *

 **A/N:** whoop, it's been awhile. Not sure what happened there...but yeah!

thank you so so much for everyone's support for this! i'm definitely stunned? but i'm so glad people are enjoying this weird fic! feel free to tell me what you think!


	5. torture tax

**5**

Saeko is, quite frankly, thriving.

She's making money. She can afford what Fumiko used to buy for them everyday. The huge inn room, the amazing food. It's all Saeko's.

So she's not sure why she's feeling so disgruntled. Maybe she's developing a conscience and is feeling guilty about Madara-kun using her ingenious beauty creations for torture?

No, definitely not.

It's irritating, to say the least. Saeko finds herself throwing more and more into her work, until all she's doing is creating and meeting with people to develop contracts, just like the stupid blacksmith man.

She has to learn _maths_. And she does!

If anything, that just increases the disgruntled feeling.

As Fumiko is gone, there's only one other person for her to confide in who she sees regularly.

"It's like a pain," Saeko says as the blacksmith beats against a piece of metal or something. "In my stomach. But I _never_ get sick. I'm on a strict diet, and I have no time to be sick. Trust me, my immune system trumps everyone in this place. But, like, what else is it? Maybe I somehow got the flu from some peasant."

He stops what he's doing to look at her. "Don't you have other people to talk to?"

"Well, _yes_. Of course I do! But you're simple. And blunt. We understand each other."

"I don't think we do."

"No one asked for your opinion. Anyway, back to me. Is it the flu? Could I actually be sick?"

He lets out a big sigh. Saeko always forgets his name, but she's pretty sure it's _Dai_ -something. She just can't remember the last part. If she has to say his name, she says Dai-kun.

"You need help," he states, turning back to his pile of stupid metal.

Saeko rolls her eyes. "Obviously! That's why I'm here. Now are you gonna help me or not?"

Dai-kun doesn't help her. He shoves a bunch of metal at her that's been formed to fit the measurements she brought to him yesterday, and then sends her away. He has important _shinobi_ work to do, apparently.

Saeko couldn't care less about shinobi. For the past month, they've been storming around the village in a huff, from the dumb Uchiha of Madara's dumb clan to another clan that Saeko doesn't care about. Everyone gossips about them, which is boring because who cares? These people need to focus on _other_ things, like fashion.

Instead of going to another moron for help for her problem, Saeko decides to take it into her own hands. She's spent the last few years sleeping with Fumiko. And now she's no longer sleeping with Fumiko. It's only logical that it's the problem.

Now that Saeko has money and people recognise her as the insanely talented and wonderful designer that she is, it's easy to find people to take home — or back to the weirdly homely inn — with her.

Except they're _boring_. They're not even good in bed. They have limp limbs and their eyes are all gooey and disgusting and it doesn't even matter if it's a woman or a man or three.

Saeko puts all her energy into finding an actual _store_ for her talent after the many incidents that end with her having to kick people out of her inn room. Real estate is weird in this world. Rachel Greenwood would have just dragged her father into the store and boom, she would have had a store somehow.

"The same stores and markets have been here for years," Dai-kun explains to her when she asks him about it. "No one wants someone new around."

"That's rubbish. _Clearly_ they do, considering the amount of orders I'm getting."

In the end, it takes far more money than it should to bribe the sullen real estate agent-ish man who looks at her with a permanent scowl. There's a pile of gold coins on his desk and various expensive necklaces by the time he concedes to give Saeko a small wooden building that used to be a brothel, which is the only reason why no one wants it.

"I think it has ambience," Saeko says to Dai-kun when he expects the weird velvet drapes hung up everywhere, an odd look considering there's no windows. "It has a certain vibe to it."

"I feel like I'm about to be murdered," Dai-kun informs her.

Despite the fact that it was once a brothel, the more beauty conscious of the town visit her shop, even when Saeko is only just beginning to set her items up and find storage units.

It's satisfying, seeing all her hard work on display. From the bleach to the beauty masks to her newly crafted pants — which haven't taken off yet, but they definitely _will_ — it's all hers. She did this. Sure, Fumiko helped her for a little bit with money and ingredients and everything but it's still _Saeko's_. She left her stupid plebeian village to do this.

The uncomfortable weird feeling in her stomach subsides slightly.

* * *

Saeko gets all kinds of unique customers. Most of them are tourists, though who knows why anyone would choose _this_ conservative town for a holiday destination. They stare at her products with a grin, and most of them are enthusiastic about her more supposedly outrageous ideas, like the high heels and very sheer and lace-y lingerie.

Her shop has been open for about a week when she gets a new _semi_ unique customer.

"Are you Saeko?" the man asks, not even looking around the shop as he walks right up to her.

Saeko beams. This person looks like the _perfect_ project for her. He basically looks like a second Madara-kun, except a little less goth.

"That's me!" she chirps. "Now, you don't even need to speak. I know exactly what you need."

He raises an eyebrow. "You do?"

"Of _course_." She grabs at his face before he can back away. His t-zone is oily, but his cheeks feel quite dry. "Hmmm, combination skin I see. And you seem quite acne prone. What's your diet like?"

There's one of those weird shinobi knives pointed at her throat within seconds.

"Woah," Saeko says and he glares at her.

"Do _not_ touch my face again. Ever."

"Okay, I'm sorry, I get it. If someone call me acne prone, I'd pull a knife on them too."

" _What?_ "

"Wow. I said I was sorry, no need to _continue_ to be rude."

The man shook his head. "Madara said you were odd, but I didn't expect...this."

Saeko scowls. She can't believe _Madara-kun_ of all people called _her_ odd! He's the strange one. He's weird, not her.

"Anyway, I need that concoction you gave him. The one for the hair."

"But your hair is already blonde?"

Blonde is the wrong word. It's quite literally _white_. Saeko's certain she could never get her hair that white, not even after toning it a thousand times.

"Oh," he says, frowning. "It's for my wife."

Saeko beams. "Oh, thank Kami. I'm _so_ glad someone here is taking care of their partner's beauty regime! I mean, I took care of Fumiko's for awhile—that was my, well, not wife, but you know—I just haven't seen anyone invested in their partner's physical wellbeing. And I'm not just talking about muscles. Hair, skin care, shaving. Surely you want something else other than the bleach?"

He looks distinctly overwhelmed. Saeko rolls her eyes and goes to get the bleach from one of the shelves, where it sits neatly packed in the tin.

"Now, there's a whole bunch of aftercare as well, you need—"

"I just need the—whatever it is you call it," he interrupts.

Saeko sighs. "The _bleach_. And no, you can't _just_ buy the bleach. Do you want your wife's hair to be brittle and dead?"

"No?"

She grabs her DIY hair mask as well as the various conditioners and plonks them on the table. The man stares.

"That will be four hundred ryō all up!" Saeko chirps.

"Are you— _fine_. Here. Take the fucking money." He slaps it on the table with far too much aggression. But then again, what can she expect from Madara-kun's associates?

He walks out of the shop in a huff. Saeko can't help but roll her eyes. Men are so dramatic when it comes to such ridiculous things, like spending money on _good hair products_.

She thinks will be the last of Madara-kun's weird friends. After all, a man like that can't have a lot of friends. But within the next week, she gets three similar visitors all requesting the same thing and claiming the bleach is for their wives. The week after it doubles.

It's a month later before Madara-kun himself enters the shop, looking oddly _clean_ and not in his armour for once.

"Madara-kun!" Saeko greets, beaming at him.

He nods in return, glancing around the shop.

"You have a lot of friends," Saeko says. "I mean, I was surprised! You're just a little—I'm sure you're very nice on the inside and all that, but y'know on the outside you just seem a bit rude?"

He's not even listening to her. She can tell because his entire attention is on the glass bottle of newly designed mouth wash.

"What's this?" he asks, inspecting the label.

"It's for your teeth. Your breath, more like it. So you can wake up in the morning, whoosh it around in your mouth and boom! You're ready to kiss all the ladies."

Madara-kun raises an eyebrow.

"Or the men," Saeko continues. "If that's what you're into. I don't really care. Either way, you're ready to kiss your lover!"

"What happens if you swallow it?"

Saeko shrugs. "I mean, like accidentally? Not really anything. You don't put much in your mouth."

He nods, still scrutinising the bottle. "And if you were to _accidentally_ drink all of it?"

"No one is that dumb," Saeko scoffs. "It's perfectly safe."

"Of course. It sounds excellent."

"Really?" Saeko can't help but look at him incredulously. He _claims_ he loved her bleach but his hair certainly isn't platinum blonde. How does he know, then? "You know, I'm not a complete idiot."

Madara-kun looks surprised, but she thinks it's a rather fake look. "I complimented you before about your creativity. I think it is clear I think you are intelligent."

"You're using me." Saeko points a finger at his armoured chest. "You're using me. That's incredibly rude."

"I am a paying customer who appreciates your products. How am I using you?"

Saeko crosses her arms over her chest and glares at him. It has no effect. He's a stone cold bastard who she's pretty sure was born like this. She's pretty sure he emerged from the darkness of Hell like this.

"I'm not gonna complain," Saeko says finally. "Because you're right, I am smart. And creative. And beautiful and a great deal of other things that you haven't said but I know I am. And I know you're going to expand my clientele. You're gonna make me money, Madara-kun, and I appreciate that even if you're...brutally torturing people with my products. Beauty _is_ pain, after all."

A very creepy and disturbing tiny smile appears on Madara-kun's face. "You should become a shinobi," he tells her. "You have what it takes."

" _And_ you ruined it. You complimented me so nicely before and you just destroyed my integrity as a human being with that insult! Look at yourself, sweetie. I don't want to be shinobi if it means _your_ fashion sense. I'd rather die, honestly."

Madara-kun shrugs. "Suit yourself." He places a hefty bag of coins on the table and waves the bottle of mouth wash in his gloved hand. "I won't be back for awhile. Something has come up and..." He pauses. "The Uchiha are no longer welcome here. I will be back, though."

Saeko rolls her eyes. Honestly, he's a bit too dramatic sometimes. _The Uchiha are no longer welcome here_. Madara-kun clearly needs a chill pill.

After that visit, Saeko doesn't see Madara-kun at all. It's a weird dry spell. She doesn't see any of the other weird people with that stupid fan thing walking around either. Knowing him, he probably annoyed someone so much because he's just like that sometimes.

A new wave of weirdos replaces the Uchiha. They have a different little thing on the back of their shirts. They're a little more friendly but Saeko almost finds them _too_ friendly.

Maybe Madara-kun rubbed off on her somehow, because whenever she walks past one of them and they gave her a bright smile, she wants to throttle them. But they have _amazing_ genetics. Their pores are to die for, so of course Saeko can't throttle them.

Very few enter her shop, though, unlike the Uchiha. They seem to avoid it. She still gets the occasional weirdo shinobi with ridiculously coloured hair, and Saeko always makes sure to raise her prices because, well, they're going around killing people! She may as well add a Torture Tax.

She knows when Madara-kun has recommended the customer to come to her when they waltz right up to her and ask the same _are you Saeko?_ over and over.

"Um, are you Saeko-san?"

It's a little different this time, though. For one, the man standing in front of is unnecessarily _gorgeous_. She's never seen hair as long and silky as his, teeth as white and immaculately straight as his...

He's a freaking _model_. Madara-kun cannot associate with someone like this, surely.

Saeko can't help but blush and wish she wore her push up bra.

"Drop the formalities, please. And you can call me Saeko," she drawls, lowering her voice at _least_ four octaves, she thinks.

His smile becomes a tad uncertain, but that's just a normal reaction. It brightens once more after a second anyway. "Excellent! I thought I was in the right place. I'm Hashirama."

She shakes his somehow eerily soft yet also firm hand. Saeko can't help but just gawk at him. His bone structure. His _everything_.

"You're the most gorgeous person I've _ever_ seen," Saeko blurts, unable to stop herself. "Your _cheekbones_. And your hair! What's your routine?"

He blinks. "My...routine?"

"For your hair! What do you use on it? What shampoo? It's so shiny and yet so...I can't describe it. It's how I _wish_ my hair was, but of course it's a little hard to do that when you bleach it."

"I don't have a routine, Saeko-san," Hashirama says, almost apologetically. "It's just my hair."

Great. Saeko scowls. "So you're one of those people then. Those people who are just effortlessly beautiful and don't need to do _anything_ to maintain their looks. They just exist and boom, they're perfect!"

"Well, I don't necessarily think—"

"I have to work my _ass_ off to achieve this! My skin ain't normally this clear, let me tell you. And my hair. Don't even get my started on my hair! It's so dark and dull normally, but your hair is dark and...it's bloody sensuous!"

Hashirama starts to laugh. "Sensuous? That's a unique compliment. Thank you, Saeko-san. I appreciate the admiration for my...looks. I didn't come here for products, though," he adds quickly before Saeko can continue her rampage on perfect people. "I heard a few rumours about your store and how various shinobi use it for...other things. I was worried you were being taken advantage of."

Saeko stares. "What?"

"I just meant that it seemed like people were tricking you into selling your products. I felt guilty and had to come here and make sure it wasn't the case. Of course the Uchiha are out now, and I can imagine they would be the main culprits, but I had to double check."

"Oh, no!" Saeko gives him a wide smile. "Don't worry. I'm not being taken advantage of. I add the Torture Tax when I know they're shinobi."

Hashirama's smile drops. Damn, he's still beautiful even with a blank expression. "The what?"

"The Torture Tax! If they're going to misuse my products, they can pay me extra."

"I'm sorry, but, Saeko-san, do you know how they're using your products?"

Saeko shrugs. "I mean, I can imagine. I don't really _want_ to. But it is what it is! That's life, I guess. Beauty is pain, after all."

"Oh." Hashirama looks uncertain. "I suppose—I can see why Madara likes you."

"You know Madara-kun, then? Are you part of his clan, too? I provide a bit of a discount for him and his weird emo band, I'll admit. I mean, not really, in a sense. They still get the Torture Tax, it's just _less_ of a tax. So if you want something—"

"I don't want anything," Hashirama says quickly. "And I'm not part of Madara's clan."

Saeko's not really sure what to say after that. Hashirama looks distinctly awkward and uncomfortable. Honestly, despite his insane looks, he's beginning to seem a bit like a wet blanket. A goodie goodie who clearly just —

Well, he just doesn't belong in Saeko's store, clearly.

"I'm sorry for bothering you, Saeko-san," Hashirama says, bowing. "Thank you for your time."

His politeness is boring, honestly. And now that he's walking away, she can see that he _does_ have a flaw.

His ass is tiny.

* * *

It's inevitable. Saeko's been waiting for the day. No, honestly, she's been _anticipating_ it.

Tori has yet to visit the store. But Saeko's seen her walk past and peer in, looking as if she's trying to be discreet and failing miserably.

Saeko's sales are through the roof, and most of the people she sees in the village are wearing her designs. Yuka has purchased a few more designs, because it seems like when your father dies and there's a new daimyo and you marry someone, you need _a lot_ of outfits.

Tori's miserable store is most likely _dead_.

So when Tori marches into Saeko's store, she's expecting it. She's excited. She's ready to destroy this miserable and conservative old bitch.

"You are _disgusting_ ," Tori begins, her old weird voice loud and obnoxious. "I have never met someone like you."

Saeko beams. "That's a compliment, Tori-chan! Everyone you've met before is probably as stupid as you."

"No one will buy these," Tori continues as she approaches the pants section, her expression furious. " _No one_."

"Oh, Tori-chan." Saeko smiles and approaches the older woman until she's backing away. "I look better than you. Everyone knows it. Everyone saw how brilliant Yuka looked at the funeral. They knew it was _my_ work, not yours. I make everything for Yuka now. Not you. _Me._ "

Tori's pinched expression becomes even tighter, to the point where she looks like a shrivelled apple. "You are the most unnatural woman I have _ever_ met. Associating with the Uchiha and women, making ridiculous clothes, destroying your integrity. I hope you will be punished for what you are doing."

Saeko grins. "Cool. Maybe I will be punished but before that, I plan to become _very_ rich and make the most amazing clothes and beauty products this disgusting world has ever seen. And trust me, with all the frowning you do, Tori-chan, you'll be on your knees begging for me to help you the moment I figure out how plastic surgery actually works."

The shrivelled apple expression fades into pure confusion. "What are you even _talking_ about?"

"Who knows? Probably unnatural things like, you know, the fact that I have four _beautiful_ girls and maybe even one boy waiting back in my room for me. I don't like to keep people waiting, Tori-chan. So get out of my shop."

She watches Tori leave and wants, for a moment, to go charging to the room in the inn and telling Fumiko about how she owned Tori.

But Fumiko's gone.

The happiness Saeko felt at owning Tori disappears. All Saeko is left with is a gross disgusting feeling in her chest. Maybe she's eaten too much meat the past few days? This feeling is meant to be _gone_.

Saeko focuses on perfecting the jumpsuit she started a few days earlier, forcing her fingers to not make it for Fumiko's measurements and instead her own. It's _her_ who's going to look in this, not Fumiko. Saeko is going to look radiant and beautiful and she's going to make a lot of money from beauty conscious people and torture conscious people and everything is going to be _fine_.

* * *

 **A/N:** welcome back to the story! I'm super sorry for the delay but I hope the update is worth the...very very long wait hahahaha

thank you so so much to all the reviews/faves/follows! I loved reading people's reactions to Saeko's antics and just general comments on the story!


	6. infinity poison

**6**

Despite the first conversation and the general annoyance of having someone who seems to act like he's morally superior, Hashirama inserts himself into Saeko's life in a silly way. He's usually in her shop every second day, examining if there's a new product or staring at her old ones.

Saeko doesn't like it. He's too...idealistic. He's _unrealistic_. He needs a severe reality check, one that Saeko can't be bothered to deliver to him.

Not to mention Saeko is way too busy to deal with him.

"How did you get the materials for this?" Hashirama asks, examining Saeko's first attempt at actually making lipstick in a tube.

It sucks. But no one in this disgusting world has any idea what a true beautiful lipstick should look like, so in their plebeian eyes, it's basically a masterpiece.

"I have my sources," Saeko says, shrugging and trying to focus on numbers and money. Just because Hashirama has all the time in the world apparently to wander around and do shit all doesn't mean she does.

She watches Hashirama attempt what she used to see teenage girls in Sephora do all the time — the classic swipe onto the hand to test the colour.

"It's very red," he comments. "It's not a happy red, though."

"Since when is _red_ happy? It's the colour of the shit that comes out of a woman's vagina every month, you idiot. And that product is not a tester. I'm not some try before you buy shit show."

Hashirama scrambles to put the lipstick back, pouting. "I just thought—"

"Are you going to buy it or not?" Saeko interrupts.

"Well I—"

"If the answer is no, then stop mucking about."

Even after what Saeko thinks is an _obvious_ dismissal, he lingers, occasionally looking at products but mostly glancing out the door, which is the only window in the entire store. She's not sure why he thinks the plebeian town is more exciting and interesting than her amazing brothel-turned-store, but she's pretty sure Hashirama is insane.

He spends most days in the store, trying to start up conversations about bullshit like kindness and love and whatever. Now, when Saeko leaves her store, instead of feeling the impending dread of going back to her lonely dark inn room, she's filled with joy at the fact that there's no silky hair, pore-less skin and bright smile to greet her.

* * *

Every now and then, Yuka kindly invites Saeko to have lunch with her in the daimyo not-palace. Even though it's not the least bit sophisticated in Saeko's opinion, it's still much better decorated than most of the peasant places in the town.

Though Saeko has to admit, the heavy draperies in her store left over from the brothel have more atmosphere than the gross plain stuff in Yuka's bedroom.

They're outside on a balcony today. Yuka is, as usual, boring and quiet, which is just what Saeko likes.

"I tried what you said. Y'know, that C-word?"

Yuka frowns, taking a dainty sip of tea. "Do you mean celibacy?"

"Yes! That one. The no sex thing. Well, it didn't work. Well, it did for five days but that was due to my body, not my drive."

"Your...drive?" Yuka repeats.

"My sex drive, Yuka. Keep up, _please_. It's just not working. I still feel weird. Everything's going really well. Well, except for this dumb guy who thinks he's like, I don't know, some type of _monk_ and he's all saintly. It's annoying."

Yuka smiles. "I think he could be a good influence on you."

Saeko wrinkles her noise and finishes off yet another one of the odd cakes the maids had set out. "No, I don't think so. If anything, I think he makes me worse. Like, I see him, and I want to corrupt him, y'know? Only he's so incorruptible so then I just wanna murder him."

There's a silence, because Yuka can't multi-task and eat _and_ talk at the same time. Saeko waits with great patience.

"What did you say his name was, again? Perhaps I know him. Some of the higher ranked Senju report directly to—" Yuka stops for a moment, biting her lip. "Some of them report directly to my husband."

"His name is Hashirama. Trust me, he's not highly ranked. He just wanders around _annoying_ me. In fact, I think he's gonna get fired. Can shinobi even be fired? Well, if they can't, I think I should change that."

There's a loud clatter as Yuka fumbles with her teacup. " _Hashirama_?" she repeats. She does a lot of repeating. "As in, _the_ Hashirama?"

"Well I hope there's no other Hashiramas. They'd all be ruined because of this one."

Yuka shakes her head vehemently. "No, Saeko-san, he's—he's the _clan head_. He leads the Senju."

Saeko snorts. "No, he doesn't. Yuka, trust me, you have the wrong dude. There's two Hashiramas walking around. One lurks like a little innocent angelic creep in my store, and the other does _important_ things."

"Maybe he is doing important things."

"Yuka, that's even worse. That makes me feel like I'm doing something wrong!"

Yuka frowns. "But are you not supporting shinobi and providing them with tools and equipment to painfully torture people?"

"What? Of course not! I'm assisting them with their beauty regime. That's what they tell me, anyway."

Saeko can feel Yuka's moral disapproval even with her eyes closed. It's gross. It's like Hashirama's weird sad eyes whenever she lists him the warnings of using the products in the wrong way.

How stupid. Either way, people are gonna be tortured, so isn't it better if someone sexy and intelligent makes money in the process?

"Anyway, enough about me. Tell me about you, Yuka. When's the baby coming so I can start making some _insane_ baby clothes?"

Yuka pauses, eyes widening. "I—well, I am not sure. When it happens, I suppose."

"What do you mean, _when it happens_? Are you actively making sure you're having sex at the right time?"

" _Saeko-san_ ," Yuka hisses, despite the fact that the entire balcony is empty due to Saeko's demands for them to be alone. "You should not just—either way, I do not know what you mean."

Of course she doesn't. This whole entire world is plebeian in every way. There's not even _condoms_. No one cares about anything remotely useful in this world, only about breathing fire and forming hands into weird signs that shouldn't be possible.

Saeko can distinctly remember all the fertility self-help books her old mother bought about _taking charge_ or whatever. She's never seen a self-help book in this world, which is a shame because she knows for sure Madara-kun could benefit from reading up on his moon, sun and rising signs to guide him.

"I can't explain," Saeko says when Yuka continues to stare, still blushing. "But anyway, just, y'know, get that baby happening. There's no demand for children's clothes. I tried making some but they just don't sell. I'm pretty sure I saw a child in a _potato sack_ the other day when I was in the market. Surely that's unhygienic?"

"Some people are not as lucky as ourselves," Yuka says, like she's the second Hashirama.

Besides, if Yuka thinks _this_ is luck, she hasn't seen anything. Neither of them own an infinity pool. She's pretty sure Yuka's bed is only a double size, too, not even a queen.

Saeko forces out the thought of turning the balcony into a sensational infinity pool where she could tower over all the idiots in the town while getting her tan on.

"I have a new dress for you," Saeko tells Yuka. "I put it in your room. Trust me, this is an _amazing_ one. Red is definitely your colour."

Yuka's high cheek bones and pale skin become even more exaggerated in red in the best way possible. Yuka looks _hot_ in red. When Saeko had told her that last time, though, Yuka had refused to meet her eyes for the rest of the week.

It was difficult to convince Yuka to move away from traditional kimono and into, well, Saeko's sexy would-be clubbing dresses. Even though she worked hard to tone it down drastically to suit the uptight traditional farts in the town, the dress is still vastly different.

Yet Saeko couldn't be prouder of it. Yuka stares at the dress hanging on the mirror as if it's made of some weird shinobi magic.

"That's—"

"Perfect," Saeko finishes for her. "I know, I know. No need to thank me. Now hurry up and take your clothes off!"

Yuka rushes behind the screen that protects her womanly modesty from Saeko. She always does the same thing every time, which is kind of annoying especially when Yuka's been looking a lot thinner lately and Saeko wants to redo her measurements _without_ the clothes inhibiting her body.

"Tell me when you've got it on so I can tie up the back!"

There's endless rustling for the next minute or so. Saeko knows it's probably confusing and not what Yuka is used to, but she's pretty sure it doesn't take that long to get into a dress.

Saeko peers over the screen to see Yuka trying desperately to tug up the fabric of the dress on her back to cover some bruises.

" _Saeko-san!_ " Yuka shrieks, and it's the first time that Yuka has ever sounded authoritative which makes Saeko step away and turn around immediately.

There's a silence.

"Yuka—"

"No. Do not say anything."

There's more rustling, but Saeko stares resolutely at the wall, not moving an inch until Yuka appears in her line of vision, dressed back in her original kimono.

"I cannot wear that dress, Saeko-san," Yuka says, voice firm and unwavering despite her eyes watering. "It does not fit."

"Yuka, if he's hitting you—"

Yuka pushes the dress into Saeko's arms. Normally Saeko would scream at her for treating her creations in such an uncouth way, but she doesn't have words. She wants to force Yuka to strip so she can examine the bruises and make sure that it's just bruises and then see if they're in the shape of a handprint.

And then she's going to find the daimyo and kill him. Maybe. But maybe it is nothing. Surely Yuka would tell her if it was something. They're friends, Saeko thinks. She's pretty sure this is what friendship is.

"Whatever you are thinking, stop," Yuka whispers. "Please, Saeko-san. Please."

Saeko shakes her head. "I can't just—"

"Leave, Saeko-san," Yuka interrupts. "Please."

So Saeko listens to her for the first time and leaves.

* * *

"You never told me you were head of your weird clan that's protecting the daimyo," Saeko says the moment Hashirama enters the shop. He freezes, as if it's some mighty secret he had been trying to keep.

"I—what? Head of what?"

Saeko rolls her eyes and puts some coins into a pouch to pay Dai-kun with for his latest delivery. "Head of the Senji clan."

"Senju."

"Yeah, that."

He fidgets, moving from one foot to another. He doesn't _seem_ like a leader. She's not sure why people would want to follow him of all people. Unless they wanted to sleep with them, in which case, she can relate. But only if his mouth is closed. But it's a bit hard to sleep with someone and demand them to have their mouth closed the whole time.

Still, Saeko is pretty sure Madara-kun, that weird emo brat, would be a better leader than Hashirama and _that's_ saying something.

"I thought you would be intimidated," Hashirama says.

Saeko gapes at him. "Intimidated? By _you_? Sweetie, no. Never. I don't think it's possible to be intimidated by you. I mean, I am intimidated by your skin and your hair and your cuticles. But _you_ , like as in, you? No."

His face does the usual weird overwhelmed and confused look that it always does whenever she goes on a tangent.

"Anyway, I have something I need to talk to you about," Saeko continues before he can protest and claim that he's scary and intimidating or something stupid like that.

Hashirama's expression changes immediately to one of pure joy. "Oh, of course! Please! Go ahead."

As usual, his eagerness makes her want to vomit but she plows forward.

"I want you to tell me everything you know about the daimyo. I think he's a piece of shit. I think he should go, to be honest," Saeko tells him, frowning as she sees a wrinkle in one of the new dresses she has on display. "I'm pretty sure he's abusing Yuka."

And, once again, an expression change. Except his usually animated face, whether it be sadness or happiness, becomes oddly blank. It reminds her of Madara-kun.

"He is a good leader, Saeko-san," Hashirama says, in what she thinks he thinks is a reassuring tone.

It's not. It's fake as fuck. And Saeko would know, because she's a bit fake sometimes.

"I didn't ask about his leadership skills, Hashirama! And besides, your leadership skills probably suck so I don't trust your opinion regarding that. But you're basically a big fat moral compass, so I know you'd know if he's a good dude or not. So, is he? Or is he not?"

"The world isn't black and white, Saeko-san," Hashirama says like he's Gandhi.

"Okay, look, once again, not what I asked. And you avoiding my question, Hashirama, is a betrayal. See, I thought we were friends."

She never thought that. She's pretty sure she hates him. If Madara-kun were to walk through the door and buy some bleach and accidentally slip it in his drink, she wouldn't care.

Hashirama sighs. It's a heavy sigh, as if he's got the whole entire stupid shinobi magic clan on his incredibly lanky shoulders.

"Okay, well, let me paint a nice little picture for you, Hashirama. See I didn't have a lot of friends. I really only had one. And she left. And so then I had zero. But then I forced some blacksmith dude to become my friend but he's sort of...lacking in conversational skills. So I found myself another friend called Yuka. And she's a bit boring but that's okay because I'm really interesting. I make her a lot of clothes, and she starts hiding from me when she changes. And _then_ , I discover that she has bruises all over her back and that's why she's hiding from me."

Hashirama is no longer meeting her eyes. Saeko shoves him but he doesn't even really stumble.

"Hashirama, I could kill you with every single thing in this room. I could even suffocate you with this dress. And I would, y'know, if I found out that you were just sitting idly by watching some dumb ass daimyo abuse a kind person like Yuka."

"I believe you, Saeko-san, but some things are more complicated than they seem. And I am keeping an eye on her. I promise you."

Saeko stares at him. "Your moral compass is _whack_. I'm more moral than you. Me! And I have a thing called the Torture Tax! I don't _care_ if things are more complicated than they seem. My friend is being abused. If you don't deal with the daimyo, _I_ will."

"You can't," Hashirama says, and it's the first time he sounds like the supposed leader he is. There's a sharpness to his voice, and she feels like she's being reprimanded by her father.

"I can and I will. No one in this plebeian world tells _me_ what to do." Before he can sound like her turnip farmer dad once more, she glares at him. "Get out. Now. I don't want to hear from you. I don't want to see you. If you step foot into this shop again, I will rip your eyelashes out with an eyelash curler."

He looks dejected as he leaves, shoulders slumped, his long luscious hair looking oddly dull, his tiny ass looking even more deflated than usual.

Saeko doesn't care. She has things to do.

And poison to make.

* * *

 **A/N:** hello I'm back! I'm super sorry for the long delay in an update but alas I am a uni student who thinks she can multitask and handle things when she can't!. but as always, thank you so so much for all your comments regarding this whacky story! I'm sorry that I haven't been able to reply to every review but please know that I appreciate them all!


	7. good bye moral compass

**7**

Due to the fact that Saeko is busy arranging very important and somewhat dangerous matters, she hires an assistant.

She's surprised when a lot of people come due to her neat poster asking for a _paid_ assistant in the main town square. Dai-kun had done it for her, because though Saeko can read and write now, she still kind of sucks. Which is fine, because Dai-kun is great with his hands in every way. Well, except one way. Actually she's not too sure about that, because he could be good with his hands in every way but Saeko has a firm rule to never sleep with blacksmiths, so she'll never know.

Either way, she interviews at least thirty people. Some aren't even from the capital, but are instead weird peasants who want to make it big or something. She kind of hates them.

The only promising one is a man called Kaito. He's from the Wind Country, and he kind of reminds her of wind. He's flippant and seems laid back, which matches Saeko's distinct lack of laid back-ness.

He knows nothing about fashion.

"Have you ever worked with shinobi?" Saeko asks him at the end of the interview.

"Briefly. My brother is a mercenary."

"And did he ever...y'know, do questionable things? Questionable violent things? But without killing?"

Kaito frowns. "Do you mean torture?"

"Well, I suppose if you're going to put it that way, then yes. Torture."

"I suppose he did?"

Saeko beams at him. "Excellent! Congratulations. You're hired."

He doesn't even smile. He just shrugs. "Cool. When do I start?"

Kaito is perfect.

He proves himself within only a few days, flippantly dealing with the shinobi but also making sure to squander money out of them and always getting the Torture Tax right. Even though he's dumb in terms of fashion, he's smart when it comes to punching out the numbers, and that's the kind of man Saeko needs in her life.

Saeko doesn't trust him or like him enough to leave him alone in her beloved shop, but she's comfortable enough to sit in the corner, writing letters to Fumiko's old sources. It's an angry task, though, considering the replies she usually gets end with: _have you heard from Fumiko?_

Which is such a dumb thing to ask. If Saeko had heard from Fumiko, she wouldn't tell Fumiko's stupid weird not-friends. And did them asking her if she had heard from Fumiko mean they hadn't heard from Fumiko? So then it's normal that Saeko hasn't received anything?

Either way, she wishes that the stupid sources would just send her what she wanted without the niceties. For people somewhat dedicated to killing, they're weirdly polite.

Saeko avoids Yuka while collecting all her materials. She doesn't show up to their weekly lunch, and seeing as no guards burst through her door demanding that Yuka-sama wants to see her, she presumes that Yuka wants to avoid her as well.

All in all, it's a somewhat smooth week, thanks to Kaito. Saeko's only wish is that Kaito's talents extended to dealing with Hashirama, because despite their last conversation, the idiot hasn't taken a hint and seems addicted to leaning over her shoulder while she writes out her letters, mixes chemicals and crafts the perfect outfit.

"How many times do I have to tell you that if you're not buying anything, you need to leave?" Saeko snaps a week after their conversation, glaring up at him as he blinks innocently.

"I like to see you work, Saeko-san!"

She goes back to cutting the wig she's acquired, making sure it's silky and soft even though she had doused it with hair dye the night before. Sure, Saeko could just dye her hair back to brown, but then she'd loose the amazingly cut platinum blonde bob she's got going on.

"Are you going to start selling things like this?" Hashirama asks, leaning further into her personal space. He doesn't even smell like blood. What kind of shinobi is he?

Saeko stands up, making sure to elbow him as she does. "This is for personal use," she says. "Anyway, we're about to close, you need to leave. Thanks."

He blinks innocently at her before offering a wide smile, as if he's completely forgotten about their argument. "Of course! See you tomorrow, Saeko-san!"

After two weeks of diligent planning and hiding everything possible from Hashirama, she's ready. Saeko has a shitty kimono that she doesn't care about because she has no doubt that it's going to be ruined. The wig fits perfectly, and she's practised putting on make up, making sure to accentuate her unfortunately small lips and exaggerate her cheek bones until she looks almost unrecognisable.

As much as Saeko loves fame, she has a feeling that the daimyo would recognise her if she just waltzed right in to his dumb fortress. But he wouldn't know her face exactly, so it's good enough to just alter it slightly.

"How do I look, Kaito-kun?" she asks her assistant, showing off the wig.

He shrugs. "Looks alright to me."

"If you weren't good at numbers you would be fired, Kaito-kun! Put some enthusiasm in, please."

He sighs. "Looks really good to me," he says in the same casual tone.

Saeko supposes she can't have everything. And her everything includes an assistant who is enthusiastic, prompt, good at maths, knows his fashion and also loves her.

She tests it out in the town the next day, walking around and examining things in the market place. No one recognises her. She even goes to Dai-kun's, just to see if she's that good but —

"Take off those ridiculous things," Dai-kun says after glancing at her for one second.

"I think I look very different," Saeko huffs. "You just—I know! I didn't switch up my perfume. That's why you recognised me, through my scent!"

"I don't care about your scent. Do you have the money from me for the last sales of those stupid metal clothes you've been making?"

Saeko rolls her eyes. "Kimono with metal embellishments. It's not the entire clothes! That would be armour, then, and that's very barbaric."

Dai-kun glares. "Get out of my shop and don't come back until you've got my share."

Honestly, some people don't have their priorities right. Saeko decides to chalk up Dai-kun's awareness of her being...well, her to her perfume and not her disguise. Her disguise is perfect. Dai-kun is just some random. None of the people in the market recognised her!

Her plan is going to work. The poison is ready. And it'll be painful! And hopefully exciting to watch.

Getting into the daimyo's fortress is disgustingly easy. Saeko knows she looks like she's about to visit one of the men and treat him to an amazing night, but still. The shinobi should do their jobs! Kami knows Saeko does her job always.

She avoids any recognisable Senju shinobi that she's seen with Hashirama and also, of course, the dumbass himself. Yet as she expected, Hashirama is nowhere to be seen because he is a shit leader.

Saeko had asked Yuka where the daimyo's room was ages ago, when the daimyo had been her father and she had just been curious. There's two shinobi guarding it, so Saeko turns on her charm.

"Hello boys," she purrs.

They stare at her. They look nervous. Excellent.

"I think you know what I am. Well, you'd be fools to not. Either way, there's about to be a lot of screaming coming from that room soon. Don't worry, the good kind of course. But...well, if you'd be so kind, it would be lovely if you could just wander down the hallway a little? I won't be long, I promise." She finishes her spiel by leaning down, flashing her assets at them.

Well, they're not assets. There's a lot of cloth pushing up her not-assets so they look like assets.

She watches them exchange nervous glances before nodding.

"Give us a shout if you need anything," one of them even says.

Need anything? Saeko's not sure if he's being genuinely kind or wants a threesome.

When they're half way down the corridor, Saeko heads into the daimyo's room. He's just chilling on his bed, reading a scroll. He's alright looking, Saeko supposes, in a kind of bland and arrogant way.

"Who are you?" the new daimyo asks, sitting up.

Saeko gives him a pretty smile. "I'm Ko-chan."

He stares at her, eyes narrowed, and for a moment Saeko is worried he's seen through her amazing disguise.

His gaze changes though, when Saeko shifts her shoulders, letting the annoyingly traditional kimono slip slightly.

"One of your...advisors thought it would help the greater good of the Fire Country if you were more relaxed," Saeko continues, approaching him slowly and making sure to keep her forced smile in place. She's not even sure if he has advisors. Why the fuck is there a daimyo if he just gets advised, anyway?

He smiles, and what a fucking pervert! It's basically a leer. She's pretty sure she sees a tooth missing back there. Saeko needs to work on her toothpaste.

"I've bought some special sake for you, too. But trust me, that's only the first course." Saeko gives him a wide grin, pulling her homemade glassware out that contains her homemade sake.

The daimyo frowns at the bottle. "Glass? An odd storing method."

"Oh, new science has emerged and it says that the sake tastes better if it sits in glass!"

He nods, frowning thoughtfully. Honestly, how dumb. Is he seriously going to drink this? Surely he's been given a masterclass in not accepting drinks from strangers.

She pours the sake into two sakazuki, smiling widely at him.

"How about we make this the second course, instead?" he asks, grabbing her waist.

Happy thoughts, happy thoughts. Saeko makes sure her eyes are wide as she stares at him.

"When I meant this was homemade and was the first course...well, let's just say there's a reason. Trust me, your performance will be so much better." She forces herself to kiss his disgusting sweaty neck, willing herself to think of Fumiko's dainty neck instead, praying that somewhere in this world, an early form of Viagra exists. And that the promise of it would make the daimyo drink a stranger's sake.

It must exist, which is potentially something else Saeko can perfect in this world, because the daimyo takes the cup with a smirk.

"You have access to a great deal of interesting things," he says before taking a lengthy sip.

Saeko wishes this had been harder. Did the Senju just not care about the daimyo? She's pretty sure Madara-kun did a better job in his brief guarding stint with the old daimyo than the Senju, because this is almost embarrassing. But also no surprise. Any clan who's leader spends all their time waltzing around and pouting and looking over civilians is bound to be inept.

Unfortunately, Saeko now has to deal with the hard part, literally, as she sits on his gross lap and tries to ignore his gross hands pawing away far too aggressively at her. It shouldn't be long, she knows. Only another few minutes, and then she'll happily watch him die painfully.

By the time he starts coughing, he's making embarrassing moans and Saeko's kimono is ripped and sure, even though it's a bit of an ugly one, he ripped her clothes!

"Are you okay?" Saeko asks innocently as she gets off his lap, touching his shoulder as he splutters and coughs everywhere.

He can't even respond.

It's fucking beautiful.

He crumples to the floor, gasping and clutching his throat, frowning up at her as if he's waiting for her to run and get help.

Saeko grins at him and gets to her knees, grabbing his face. "I would never go for a guy like you. For one, you stink. I don't even mean that metaphorically or whatever, I mean you fucking stink. You sweat so much. And you moan in this weird embarrassing way! Like, normally I like it when my lovers moan but one, you're not my lover and two, your moans suck."

The daimyo makes an attempt to swipe at her but it's pathetic, just like him.

"Yeah, you're dying. I'm so sorry. I'll make sure to give my condolences to your family. Like your wife. Y'know, Yuka? Kind girl. Hasn't done a thing wrong? Yeah, her. Well see here's the thing. You fucked up when you decided to hurt her. So now I'm hurting you! Seems fair, right?"

His coughing has gotten out of hand, because it's at this point someone knocks.

And now Saeko has to pull out all her amazing acting and crime-covering up skills as she shoves the sake bottle and cups in her bag and wills the tears.

"Help!" she screams. "Something's wrong with the daimyo!"

At once, the two shinobi rush in, the door sliding open as they push her out of the way and shake the daimyo, who's gone a disgusting purple colour, with blood pouring out of his nose and mouth.

Saeko knows how suspicious this looks. She doesn't really care. She gets up, ready to leave.

"Hey, wait a second—"

Before he can grab her, she's out the door, hurrying down the steps. She takes off her wig and shoves it into her bag, and grabs the spray containing the make up remover, sprays it and rubs all over her face with a cloth. She wraps a far nicer kimono around the ripped one and flips her bag inside out so it's a different colour. By the time she's reached the ground floor and there's a hoard of shinobi stopping her, Saeko is back to being her beautiful self.

"Is this the one they were describing?" one of the shinobi asks the hoard.

Wow. They have quick communication. She wonders if they have some early form of a phone.

"No, that's just one of Yuka-sama's friends. Keep searching."

Saeko gives them a grin and exits the fortress.

She did it.

And it was disgustingly easy.

* * *

The news is all over town. Hashirama stops rolling up at her shop.

In Saeko's eyes, the world is a marvellous place to exist.

She waits awhile before visting Yuka. It would seem weird, and she's pretty sure Yuka knows who killed the daimyo. Or at least suspects.

Saeko designs an outfit for the occasion. It needs to be _grand_ , and very white. A blinding white. With a bit too much lace, and a bit too sheer. She can see it in her head, and if she were to name the dress it would be called something cute like _virgin about to be defiled_. Or something like that.

The name is unimportant.

While the town floods with gossip, she focuses on finishing up the rest of her designs, paying Dai-kun, and ordering Kaito around as well. It takes about a week to finish off the dress while doing all that, and by that time the gossip has died down to _facts_.

The facts are:

1\. The Senju clan is in disgrace.

2\. Every shinobi is hunting for a pretty blonde whore who poisoned the daimyo. There's a high reward for their head.

3\. No one really knows who's going to be daimyo next.

It's all very exciting and political. Saeko doesn't care too much. All she wants is for Yuka to be out of the fortress and away from any possible future husbands or father-in-laws or whatever that could injure her.

When Saeko visits Yuka, she's seated by her window, wrapped in a thick black kimono.

"Did I design that?" Saeko asks, not bothering to knock.

Yuka jumps out of her seat, staring at her with wide eyes. "Saeko."

Wow. Saeko can't believe it. After months of begging Yuka to drop the honorific, she _finally_ has. It's definitely a defining moment in their friendship.

"Sorry I haven't visited. I heard the news and everything. I've just been _so_ busy with work, y'know. People love a good funeral, even when they're not even invited! They just like to buy something black and claim they care, I reckon."

Yuka stares before strolling right past Saeko and shutting the door to her bedroom.

"Why?" she demands, and wow, this is truly the day of change for old Yuka. She's demanding things without stammering.

Saeko frowns. "Why what?"

"Why did you kill him?"

There's a part of Saeko that wants to lie. She's not really sure where they stand, as friends. They are friends, but are they the type of friends who cover up a murder together?

"He was hurting you," Saeko says, squirming.

Yuka stares. "Saeko, you—"

"He's gone," Saeko dismisses, changing tactics. "He's dead. I killed him. Honestly, in the end, it wasn't even for you. It was for me. He was sweaty!"

"They will find you. They will. Someone will figure it out. You cannot just—I don't understand."

"I _told you_ , he was hurting you. He had bad body odour. He was sweaty. I could give you a thousand reasons and I only met him once!"

Yuka shakes her head, lips pursed. "No. Saeko, please, just—leave. I am not angry. I just think it is a bad idea for you to be here so soon."

It's true. For once, Yuka is being smart. But it feels odd, this dismissal.

Oh Kami, Saeko _cares_ about her. No, she knew that before. It's different. Saeko feels like she's _overthinking_ something. Like she's wondering if Yuka is not actually being honest, and is sending her away because she hates Saeko.

What kind of bullshit is that?

"Okay. Okay I'll leave. Just—keep me updated, okay?"

Yuka nods, and stands in the centre of her room, waiting for Saeko to leave.

There's only one place to go.

Dai-kun groans when she storms into his little shop.

"What is it now?" he snaps. "I'm not your fucking shrink."

"I don't even know what that means!" Saeko yells. "I'm having a crisis. I'm _overthinking_ something. How does that even happen? Maybe it's just that the past few weeks have been so stressful. I've had stupid Hashirama breathing down my neck over _nothing_ and all this stuff with the daimyo" — Saeko doesn't trust Dai-kun _at all_ to tell him about her murder — "I think it's all getting to my head! I need to slow down. Do a face and hair mask. Exfoliate. Shave. Do the whole shebang."

"I didn't know _you_ were all caught up in that shit with the daimyo," Dai-kun says, frowning and oh shit, he's actually paying attention. "You know the dude who runs the Senju?"

Saeko laughs it off. "I mean, not really. Just casually, y'know. As much as anyone does."

"There've been skirmishes all outside the town. The Uchiha and the Senju are fighting. Probably over who's gonna be guarding the new daimyo or something like that."

"Okay, why would I care about that?"

It's a lie. Saeko _kind of_ cares. Uchiha equals Madara. Madara equals...well, she's not sure what. But _something_.

Either way, all this overthinking is making Saeko regret her choice. Maybe Yuka is right, and they'll find out and she'll have to leave the capital. And that _cannot happen._ Where will Saeko go? Another capital?

Her nightmare happens the next night at the store. Saeko's packing up and counting the money after having sent Kaito home when an absolute swarm of shinobi led by Hashirama walk through the door.

Saeko takes a deep breath. She rehearsed her grand speech many times while lying in bed last night. She's got this.

"Hashirama, I thought I told you—"

"I thought I told you to stay out of it."

There's no disgustingly fake warmth in his voice like there used to be. His stare is hard and reprimanding, and it interrupts Saeko's planned speech for a moment. She has to _improvise,_ now.

"I'm sorry, I thought I told you to do something or I'd take it into my own hands."

He shakes his head at her. "You're not even going to pretend like you don't know what I'm talking about?"

Saeko snorts. "I'm proud of what I did. It took me a lot of work to get that wig right, and to concoct that poison. I'm glad he died."

"You're good at what you do. You're smart, in possible the worst way I've ever seen before. But that's where it ends. You know nothing about politics, about how all this works. You think you did the right thing, but—"

"Maybe _you_ should've been better at your job instead of running around doing whatever it is you've been doing."

A weird blush appears on Hashirama's face before he shakes his head, resuming the serious _I'm disappointed_ expression. "No. You shouldn't have done this. You—there was going to be a way for _peace_ , with this daimyo. He could have bridged the gap between the clans, and—"

"You can do that yourself," Saeko snaps. "You're a grown man. Act like it."

Some of the shinobi draw their swords.

"What, are you gonna kill me or something?" Saeko demands.

"No," someone interrupts, and with the grace and drama of a drag queen in Los Angeles, Madara enters the shop.

The Senju don't even attack him, which is _so dumb_. If Saeko were Hashirama, she would have stabbed him while he was doing his dramatic walk in, then and there.

There's a few Uchiha with him, but far less than the Senju.

"If you touch her, I'll kill you," Madara growls, standing in front of her.

Saeko stares because she's honestly never really thought she and Madara were that good friends.

"She's irreplaceable," he continues.

Saeko can't help but smile.

"She may have a shit personality but she's my supplier."

Saeko's smile fades.

"Now get. Out."

"Madara—" Hashirama begins.

"Get out of my fucking shop, you fucked up moral compass!" Saeko screams from behind Madara's back.

Hashirama hesitates. She has a feeling he wants to do some really long monologue about morality and being smart and not murdering people and all this shit, and how's she ended the world as they all know it. The other Senju are all looking at him with...Saeko thinks that it's frustration.

They leave, however, after Hashirama's brief hesitation. Saeko smiles.

"Thank Kami Hashirama is obsessed with you Madara, otherwise this random wouldn't have been able to kill the daimyo," one of the weird looking guys next to Madara comments.

Madara glowers. "That's not what happened."

"Oh I think it is."

"Shut up, Keiji."

"And I am _not_ a random!" Saeko interrupts. "Excuse you."

Idiot Keiji rolls his eyes. "Sure. Whatever, country girl."

Madara gives him a pointed look, which, wow, Saeko needs to learn how to convey a whole conversation with her eyes like Madara just did. Idiot Keiji walks off, gesturing for the other Uchiha to follow him.

It's just her and Madara now.

"You look _awful_ ," Saeko says before she can stop herself. "I mean, seriously. Have you been keeping up with your skin routine?"

"We've been fighting the Senju all week. It's a bit difficult to find time and a mirror."

Saeko shakes her head. "You should've said so! I can make you a nice little compact mirror. I could even make it so it attaches onto your armour. That would be useful, wouldn't it?"

"No. That wouldn't be useful."

"Well, screw you then. _Don't_ be nice about my invention."

"I just saved your life. I think I deserve a bit of gratitude."

Madara's got that annoying little smirk on his face, that screams _I'm right and you're wrong_ , which is ridiculous, because Saeko is never wrong!

But...okay. He may have a point this time. Saeko's not too sure if there's a jail in this world or something. She presumes there is, and that it's violent and awful and that they would only give her _shampoo_ for her hair, with no conditioner. It would be that barbaric.

So, yes, Madara did save her from catastrophe. But still, Saeko isn't gonna admit that, especially when he's been absent for so long.

"I'm not thanking you. You left me for ages. Even worse, I had to deal with _Hashirama_! How awful is he? He's so moral that he's not moral. Do you know what I mean?"

"No."

"Well, he is. Just trust me on this."

A very small tiny possible Madara-smile appears on his face. It's more a grimace, but Saeko beams at him.

"Are you staying, now?"

"Well, Saeko, you did just kill the daimyo while the Senju were supposed to be guarding him. We're in control of the capital once more. So, yes, I am staying."

This is confusing. Saeko is pretty sure that Madara killed the last daimyo. Maybe it took her awhile to realise after it had happened, but he definitely had done it.

And well, technically Saeko assisted a little bit. She gave him the bleach. But she was unaware at that point! If she'd been aware, she would've charged him a fucking fortune.

She's not sure why he's so eager to be back guarding the capital once more when he...

Oh well. Saeko can't be bothered keeping track of Madara's mood swings and politics.

"Then how about I show you some of my new products I've been working on?" Saeko says, grabbing his arm.

This time, Madara definitely smiles.

* * *

 **A/N:** I was supposed to update this last night buuut yeah i was tired and couldn't be bothered editing

Anyway this chapter is extra long to make up for the shortness of the last one! and just life I suppose! but as always, thank you so so much for all the support/reviews/faves/follows for this story! still surprised by it...will always be surprised by it. But I hope you enjoy the chapter and feel free to tell me what you think and submit your deepest conspiracy theories!


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